The Frog at the Bottom of the Well
by chezchuckles
Summary: Kate Beckett wants no help from Castle. But she needs an apartment. Badly.
1. Chapter 1

Apologies for any confusion on my first post: One and Done? I had edited out the 'part' designations but that "Part One" remained despite my best efforts. It is a complete story; it stands alone. Thank you for your generous and insightful reviews.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended with this work.

Title: The Frog at the Bottom of the Well

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><p>An early morning in the station, a rich cup of cappuccino, and the silence of six a.m.<p>

Kate inhaled the steam from her mug and wrapped her fingers around the ceramic to take the edge off their numbness. She'd taken the subway in to work and the long walk from her month-to-month leased apartment to the subway station and then her stop to the precinct had cut to the bone. The bite of northern wind was made all the worse for the last two week's beautiful spring weather. It was cruel and unusual punishment.

Josh was gone; she hadn't even done it herself. Well, she probably had, but it had been Josh who called things to a halt. It had stalled out. She'd known that canceling a trip or putting off an obligation wouldn't solve their issues. Josh was involved with his work as much as she was, but the connection was just-missing. Anyway, it hadn't been true love, it never was for Kate, but letting him go was harder than she had expected.

Failure. That's what it stank of.

So the long walk to work this morning was to freeze out whatever lingering doubts or sorrows the break-up had left in her, and to punish herself for agreeing to date him in the first place. Because Kate did know better. She always knew better. She was solitary, and the alone-ness suited her. It wasn't this one. It wasn't Josh, for sure. It wasn't the guy she'd run off with her freshman year of college before her mom had died. It wasn't Demming. It wasn't Castle-

Speak of the devil.

He looked equally as surprised to see her, and if that were true, why the hell was he trying to sneak in to the station at six in the morning?

"Castle?"

"Oh." His coat had wet spots from the drizzle outside, and he was rubbing his wind-chapped hands together. "I've got the car service waiting outside. I was just going to leave this-but since you're here-come on, get your jacket-"

As he came towards her, gesturing for her to hurry, she saw the little box in his hand and the bow on top, and her heart flickered with panic. "Castle."

"Come on, jacket, coat, something. Surely you wore more than that." He was checking the break room as he passed, and grabbed the sleek, black trenchcoat she'd worn this morning. Her silk scarf drifted to the floor and he stopped to scoop it up, and by that time Kate had met him in the middle of the bullpen, hesitant and wary.

"Castle. What are you doing here?" She had her customary frown in place; she was certain there were no telltale cracks. She'd become adept at Castle's own game-using the extreme of one emotion to cover the more vulnerable ones. For her, it was irritation. Irritation to mask the raw abrasion of her heart.

"I was going to drop this off, but this is better. Put your coat on." He was dressing her now, like she was Alexis at three years old, tugging the coat up her arms and adjusting the collar, her scarf in his hand. "Gloves?"

"No. Wait, Castle-"

"No gloves? That's crazy. You take the subway and you're not wearing gloves? At least the car will be warm-"

"Castle, wait-"

"Here." He had looped the scarf around her neck now and was tugging her forward, turning to lead her down the hallway to the elevators.

"Castle. Stop. I'm at work."

He laughed. "I know that."

"No, I mean, I'm working."

"Not anymore. Come on; it won't take long and you're not supposed to be here now anyway."

"Castle." She reached up and jerked the ends of her scarf from his hands. "No."

He was at the elevator, but he didn't push the button. Castle turned back to face her, one hand still clutching the little box with its bow, and gestured for her to hurry. "Yes. I've got something for you-for Christmas. You're going to love it."

"You're not supposed to get me things for Christmas." She stood her ground, shoving her hands into her pockets. "And Christmas is months away."

"What kind of terrible rule is that? Of course I can get you things for Christmas." And then his face brightened with mirth. "Wait, who says I got you things? I just said I've got one thing. But like you said, Christmas is forever away-I've got plenty of time to get you *lots* of things."

She was blushing; she knew it. "Castle. No. I'm not going-"

"Come on. You gotta see it to believe it."

"Tell me what it is first."

"Look. I got you this." He held out the box, his face so eager that it melted her resolve a little, just a little, and she swayed on her feet. "Come on, Detective. Aren't you curious?"

"What is it?"

"Open it."

"It's not inappropriate-?"

"No!" He grinned widely and wriggled his eyebrows. "Oh, but it can be, if you want it to be-"

She snatched the box from his hand, taking those two steps closer to him that it required, and he snagged the ends of her scarf once more, dragging her even closer. Now she was even with the elevator doors and he pushed the button, keeping her collared with the scarf.

Kate managed to untie the white bow just as the doors slid open and found herself being herded into the elevator as she opened the box.

It was a plastic card key. Thicker than the hotel kind, thank goodness (she would've decked him for that), and not a type she recognized. Maybe to an electronic gate?

"That's your key."

"To what?" Again, she yanked back on her scarf and stood apart from him in the elevator car.

He smirked. "You'll see."

"Castle-"

The elevator was now at the lobby; she'd missed him pressing the buttons, and he was tugging her by the pocket of her coat, out past the few people getting buzzed through security at the front desk. He pushed open the door for her and herded her out onto the sidewalk, all before she could form some kind of response.

"Why did you get me a key?"

"Just wait. You'll see."

A key to what? A garage? Had he bought a new toy? Oh crap, had he bought *her* a new toy? She couldn't do that. She couldn't accept something like that, and when and where would she keep whatever might be in this garage-

Or it could just be a gate key. Maybe he had access to one of those private parks. Was he trying to take her on a date? Now, at six in the morning? He'd said he was going to leave it for her to find when she came in to work.

"Okay, here's the car. It'll be really fast. I wanted it to be close to the precinct."

She was baffled. Close to the precinct? "Is this some new place you've bought?" She narrowed her eyes at him, visions of laser tag facilities or heated swimming pools in her head. Who knew with Castle? He might have bought another bar. But she climbed into the back of the navy sedan and felt him settle next to her.

"Well, almost." He was grinning again. But she detected a faint note of unease in his manner, like he was waiting for her reaction. But why? What did she care if he bought a bar or an arcade or whatever the hell he wanted? He leaned forward and spoke quietly with the driver, who nodded and eased the car into city traffic. Eased being a relative term.

He was giving her free access to the bar? "Are you looking for my opinion before you buy it?"

His lips quirked at the edges. "In a manner of speaking." He'd sat back against the seat and seemed content to say nothing more, his eyes practically shining with glee, and she sat back as well, waiting for something more enlightening. If she'd had her wits about her, she knew she'd never have let Castle get her into his car. If this weekend had been a normal one-

It was six blocks away, in a warehouse district of Manhattan that looked like it was slowly being remodeled. Slowly. A restaurant, Chinese it looked like from this distance, was at one of the cross streets with a convenience store across the way, while the rest of the block was three or four story abandoned buildings. No, wait, one of the buildings looked like an actual warehouse still, containing auto parts. Or electrical equipment. Hard to tell.

But the car turned in to a hidden drive, and Castle's driver pulled up next to a small box and reached behind him as if waiting for them to hand something over.

"The key card, Detective."

She jumped a little, but put the key card in the driver's hand and watched him swipe the card in front of the sensor. The garage door went up smoothly, and the car inched forward into darkness.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she realized they were in an underground parking garage. Fifteen or twenty vehicles were in various assigned spots and the driver pulled into slot 17, about six spots down from the elevators.

She was turning to ask Castle what the hell this was when he opened the car door and held his hand out to help her. Kate scrambled out the other side, ignoring him, and stood there in dumb confusion as he collected the key card back from the driver and came around the car towards her.

"Elevators are this way."

He took her elbow in his and she jerked it away, but found her own curiosity compelling her forward. She did have a job to get back to, but she wanted to end this mystery once and for all. "Where are we going, Castle?"

"Up," he said and ran the key card through a swipe station outside the elevator doors.

"This is a lot of security for a run-down building."

"Sure is." But he said nothing else. The elevator dinged open and she was surprised by the elegance of the car-chrome and wood paneling, done fairly recently.

"Do you own this building?" she said suspiciously, wondering if there was a club above them.

"I wish." He shook his head at her and pressed 3, causing the doors to shut and the lift to ascend. Smoothly. No jerks or stutters. New then. Or well-maintained.

"Where are we-"

"Third floor."

She glanced at the panel. 3 out of 4 floors then, and the fourth was labelled S, whatever that meant.

"What's the S stand for?"

"It stands for suite." He looked chagrinned. "Sorry, but we're not going up that high."

Mysterious. "No lobby?" She had wanted to check for company names on a directory board.

"Not here, not exactly."

She looked at him in askance.

"It's kind of a back door thing. I hope that's not a problem."

"Why would it be?" She was truly confused now. What did she care if a building had a back door instead of a lobby? "Is this like your bar? I told you that you didn't need a foyer in the bar either, Castle. People are just fine walking right in to the main seating area-"

He reached out and pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her with a smile. It made her stomach plummet. Or maybe that was the elevator stopping and the doors sliding open. Either way, she gave him a fierce glare with a raised eyebrow. She knew it lacked force; she could sense his smirk at the edges of his lips.

"There are six on this floor. I couldn't get it more private than that. Not even with all my money and connections." There was the self-deprecating grin.

She backed away from his fingers, but he was already stepping off the elevator onto the third floor. "Wait-what is this? Six what?"

"Apartments." And he grabbed her hand before she could backpedal, tugging her just down the hall, then swiped the card on a flat matte display next to the solid wood door.

Apartments. "Apartments?"

The door clicked and the display went green, and then Castle was shouldering open the door, which must have been as heavy as it looked, and tugging her inside.

"Welcome home, Kate. If you want it."


	2. Chapter 2

The apartment was a bewildering expanse of light and wood and concrete, as if a construction company had half finished the inside and left it as it was, bare and raw. And it appealed to her in a way she didn't want to examine.

"You bought me an apartment?"

She wouldn't step further into the space; he was nudging her from behind and closing the heavy steel-enforced wooden door after them. "Not entirely."

"Why did you do this? Castle. No. I can't accept this. I can't-"

"Wait, hear me out." He held up both hands as if he expected her to draw her weapon, and as tempting as that was, she needed information first.

Even facing him now, with most of the floor plan at her back, she couldn't help remember a few alluring details: the metal and wood railing, like a barre, across one half of the room; windows all along the top half of the far wall; a door with a crystal knob; rough-hewn boards in a wainscotting; brick walls with purposefully-sloppy mortar; a whole wall of bookshelves.

"Here's the thing-" Castle was tugging her further inside and she saw, just to her left, a bare staircase with no railing and only 6 or so steps, the base made of the brick and topped with exquisitely warm wood.

She couldn't help running her eye up the stairs to the loft-like space above her head, cleverly roomed off with a brick wall and two more heavy, wooden doors, including those crystal doorknobs. Maybe it was the detective in her, but she wanted to know what was behind those doors.

Castle was still talking. "-And I figured I had two options. Either I pay the difference on your old loft after its renovations-which was going to be months more, possibly even a year-and I didn't think you'd be happy with that-or I find something else that you *could* afford, which you might also like, and I could maybe help. And since real estate in New York is always a good investment-"

"Wait, hold on. What?" She shook her head at him, pushing out the clear and yellow sunlight that filled the apartment like a benediction. It wasn't too warm in here, despite the brilliant sun, but the light was intoxicating.

"Your old place. I couldn't buy it. And the bomb voided your rent-control. So when I talked with the building's owners-it was a group, of course, and they weren't interested in stories-"

"You tried to buy my old place?" She was shocked. And confused. And overwhelmingly touched. But of course, he had money, and he felt he could get anything he wanted if he threw around enough money, even *her* right? But-

"Keep up, Detective." He was grinning widely, beaming like the light coming through that long expanse of windows which she needed just one more glimpse of before telling him absolutely no.

"They're renovating the whole building," she said idly. "They told me I had first dibs on a new lease. It's-" Kate shook her head, sighing. Exorbitant.

"Yeah, crazy expensive, that's for sure." Rick laughed at his own miserly opinion and took her elbow again, pulling her further into the space. "I don't know how you got that place-luck or family-but they aren't selling. Not even that one apartment. I couldn't match the asking price for the building-"

"Oh my goodness, Castle-you didn't buy this building did you?" She swung around to face him, tearing her gaze from those windows.

"Well-"

"Castle!"

"I didn't exactly buy the whole thing."

She felt her knees run to water and had to grip his lapels for a moment, but hid her weakness with anger, shaking him. "Castle. This is the stupidest, most self-seeking, downright craziest thing you've ever done-"

"It's a good investment. Real estate in New York-are you kidding me? And it's not like I'm alone in this. I just invested in a group doing renovations in this area. You saw the Chinese place down the street? There's another old warehouse like this one down the block that they're just beginning, and the guy said he could look at the bar for me too-"

The bar. A company renovating this area. A whole freaking building. "Castle-"

"Just take a look before you shoot me down, Detective. You don't have to say yes. Nothing's been signed, nothing's been bought, I can still back out of this-"

And with that, an enormous burden lifted from her chest and she could meet his eyes again. Nothing had been signed. He wasn't indebted for this yet, and she could say no. She would say no. It was a no. Firmly.

"I mean, I've invested in this place now, so if we can't get tenants, then it will hurt. And having a police officer in the building is a huge selling point-"

She smacked his arm, but released her grip on his coat, shoving away from him. She felt that old panic well up at the back of her throat again and walked around him to the staircase. She studied it for a moment, trying desperately to marshal her face, school her emotions. Castle did spur of the moment things, but this was not irrevocable yet. She would nod and play nice; she would ooh and ahh over his acquisition and then she would firmly reject his offer. The police force had rules about taking gifts; she had moral and ethical issues with this kind of 'help' from Castle anyway.

"Fine. I'll look."

He grinned and jogged forward to beat her to the stairs. "Ooh, you are going to love it, Kate Beckett."

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><p>Rick wondered how she saw this place, if she saw it the same way he did-for all its potential-or if she saw it as empty. It was a gorgeous space, (as his interior decorator and one night stand would say) and it had an open and raw beauty that attracted him and reminded him of her. The stark lines, the exposed wood, and the resolute brick were Detective Beckett's own firm and strong personality. But he could imagine a different side of Kate in here, in jeans and brown boots, a tshirt maybe, her hair loose and unstyled, minimal makeup. She'd lounge in a deep chair set just beside the bedroom door on the top level of the loft, just up from the stairs, and she'd have her face turned towards the sunlight, just as she was now, with a book in her hands-something Russian and gloomy-<p>

Her face was turned towards the sun and she wasn't frowning, she was basking in it. Which is what he had hoped. "The heating bill should be manageable too. They said the windows are solar thermal-feel the difference?"

She stepped closer and touched the windows; he could see the surprise on her face. "These south facing windows trap sunlight and heat the apartment in the winter, and then keep it insulated in the summer. I'm assuming it works like it should."

She had pressed her palm flat to the window and now turned to face him, her cheek brilliant and haloed by the light. "Castle-"

"There's more." He mounted the last of the steps and pulled her along the open balcony of the loft to the wooden door. "All the materials are actually recycled from industrial waste-they call it materials processing. Fancy word for trash, right? But it's so cool in here. This is the master bedroom. Open it."

The door was painted an off-white but he knew she could paint it any color she liked; the knob was some kind of heavy pink glass that looked ridiculous to him, but she seemed to touch it reverently. He thought she liked blue; he'd meant to get the crew in here to paint all the doors blue after he'd seen how crisp the color had come out on the walls, but he'd run out of time. And really, he didn't know all that much about interior decorating.

Kate opened the bedroom door and stepped through; he followed right behind her, seeing it for perhaps the seventh time, but it was different now, watching her eye it like the detective she was.

The room ran almost the whole length of the outside wall, with one bevelled window which was set high, too high for snipers to get a bead on anyone from the surrounding buildings-and yes, he'd thought of that first when he'd seen those windows in the main room-and the brick walls on two sides were in contrast to the two blue interior drywalls. "Same for the window in here-solar thermal." Rick nervously stepped in beside her and walked toward the center of the room. "I know it's bare. But I didn't want to buy furniture without your-"

"Castle-" She shook her head once at him with a raised hand, closing her eyes against the sudden vision of what?-his buying her bed and bookcase and night stand? Or something else?

"Bathroom through that room." Rick gestured towards the partially open door. "It's shared with the guest bedroom. There's a half-bath just off the kitchen though, so it's not too bad."

She was staring into the dark space past the bathroom door, but not really seeing. She made no move to look, and that scared him.

"Look at the closet." He didn't try to take her elbow this time, simply walked to another broad wooden door and turned the pale-yellow glass knob, opening the closet for her inspection. By the look on her face, she hadn't expected it to be so large. "It's walk-in," he said helpfully. "And purple." He shrugged at her, now thinking how ridiculous the idea of a purple closet was. "And this wall is divided up into shelves for all your shoes."

She was still speechless; he decided to plow ahead. He stepped out onto the walkway and made for the next room. "Next is a guest room. It's pretty small. But if your dad was in town, or Lanie wanted to sleep over, or-or-Josh, well, I guess he wouldn't be-I'm not-"

She was at his back now. "We broke up."

He felt the breath from those words at his shoulder and shivered. "I-I'm sorry for that." And he was sorry. He really was. It shocked him to discover that, but he wanted good things for her; he wanted a man she could dive into things with, just as she'd said. He wanted to be that-well, only, he was Richard Castle. And when did Richard Castle ever manage to get it right?

There was an awkward moment where she was standing behind him looking in at the extra bedroom, and then she had turned away. She was already heading down the stairs before he caught up to her. "Kate-"

She turned a baleful look on him and kept on down the stairs, for a moment mingling with his vision of the Kate of this apartment-jeans and boots and tshirt, sun-warmed hair-and the double image was bewildering-one at rest in a nonexistent chair reading Anna Karenina and one striding forward in a pants suit and dove grey sweater vest that made her look like a pink, flush pearl.

He made it down the stairs after her, not sure which Kate he was chasing. "I was just going to say, take a look at the kitchen." He stepped past her on the ground floor and gestured towards the far end of the space. A brick archway separated the living area from the eating area, effectively splitting off a third of the apartment into a long, narrow kitchen. Wider than her old kitchen, but still a New York City apartment in terms of space.

She did finally stand beside him in the archway, casting her eyes over the granite countertops, the deep ceramic sink, the bronze fixtures, the dark-stained bamboo wood of the floor. He'd already bought a little kitchen table to fit the special dimensions of the eating nook, and the developer had added a bench against the windows. He hadn't bought the chairs; there really wasn't the room for it, but he knew Kate still had her old ones.

Kate stepped around him and touched the blue paint on the bench, the sunlight catching her hair and creating a nimbus of pale yellow, like the doorknob to the closet. She sat down abruptly and stared up at him. "Why did you do this?" She looked bereft.

Rick watched her a moment, the sun behind her in an aura, making her face shadowed and unfamiliar, joy at her back and sorrow on her face. He wanted to touch her hair, brush it back from the collar of her black coat, rub his thumb in the dark spot of her collarbone. She was too thin, still, but not nearly as brittle as she'd seemed six months ago, back when the summer had just been over.

He sighed and sat down beside her, at the far end of the bench, letting his legs sprawl out into the space between the archway and the table. "Because I know you need a home. A place to retreat. A place that's safe." A place to stop being so sad. So angry. So alone.

She tilted her head away from him, so that he couldn't even see her profile, and let out a small sigh of her own. "I'm not Nikki Heat you know. And I've got a place, Castle."

He ignored the dig about confusing her with a made up character. "A place maybe. But not a home. And I can't convince you to come live with me, so-" He smiled wickedly at her, waiting for her to turn around and see the teasing cast to his eyes, waiting for a sharp reply.

She did turn, and gave him that glare, but then drew her knees up, her black dress shoes tapping against the wood of the bench. "So this is what you think should be my home?"

"Only if you want it. You do a lot-you carry more than-" Rick shook his head and rubbed at the line in his palm, trying to find words that wouldn't embarrass her. "You need this. I need to make it right. So-"

She was looking out the window, her back pressed against the wood of the bench, the light nearly silver as it filtered through the cold, spring morning. It came in at an angle, blinding him a little, but it was warm here by the window, and yellow, and Kate seemed so sad. He had only wanted to make her smile, had only wanted to make things easier for her.

"My old apartment-the kitchen kind of looked like this." She gestured to the windows. Hers had been blocks of bevelled or frosted glass, he remembered, with a brick wall below and the sink and countertops along that. The oven had been against the right hand wall, with a few stainless steel shelves above that, and stainless steel counters, but he had remembered her complaining about how hard they were to keep clean, all that stainless steel, and so he'd asked the remodeling group to fit granite countertops and plain wooden shelves.

"It did, a little. The windows remind me of it. Your kitchen looked like it had been a greenhouse or a sunroom-a need for wide open space in the midst of the city."

She nodded and chewed at her lower lip; he wondered what she was thinking. If she were any other women, he might think she was beginning to waver. But she was Kate, and her eyes were burdened this morning, and he had no idea.

"I put a few things in already, to show you what it would look like."

She jerked back to look at him, something different on her face now. He longed to know what that look was for. "You did what?"

"When I made pancakes in that little kitchen with its greenhouse windows-it seemed your favorite part of the whole place, the most lived in, despite the contents of your fridge-" He grinned at her and stood up again, heading for the cabinets. "-And that little teapot with the parrot on it-I suppose it's gone now, but I remember it, and I remember wondering why you'd bought it, and where, or if someone had given it to you, and if so, how important they were for you to have it out in a special place."

"No one gave it to me. It was my mom's."

He had to take a breath to absorb the impact of that one, but he pushed ahead. "Well, because of that, I didn't want to get you a bunch of impersonal, new stuff, because your apartment was such a collection of things, of you, and I'd never be able to reproduce that, but maybe-"

With this, he had opened the wooden door-the door looked like a barn door-of one of the cupboards beside the recessed fridge and showed her the contents. "I did donate a few things. My mom did. Alexis did." He touched them with a finger.

She came up behind him to look over his shoulder. "These are from-from your family?"

He pulled out the teapot that Alexis had painted just a few months ago. "Alexis did this one. She went to one of those paint a pottery places. It's safe and everything-I mean, you can boil water in it and you won't be drinking paint chips."

She took it out of his hand and stroked the glaze. "This-I can't believe this."

"I told her yours had a parrot on it and she said she couldn't do parrots, but she could do a hummingbird."

She wasn't crying; but there was a sense of relief in her eyes, of being unburdened. "It's wonderful. Perfect." She put the cream teapot back on the shelf; the hummingbird was sipping from a wide open tropical flower, with green vines around the edges. He knew it looked like a 16 year old had made it, but that was the point. He wanted to give her back some things that money truly couldn't buy, and family heirlooms were one of them.

He touched the glasses beside the teapot. "Those are from my mom. She says a woman needs a couple of wine glasses-and to call her if you need tumblers for the heavier stuff."

Beckett was smiling now, and fingering the wine stem with appreciation. She touched the next glass. "And this is from you?"

"Actually, that's from Esposito."

Her hand drew back and she cast him a look.

"I only told them I wanted to collect some stuff for you to put in your kitchen, stuff you'd lost."

She touched the four tea glasses, all of them a brilliant green, shaking her head. "It's a set. The idea that he had a set of anything is beyond comprehension."

"He said they were his great-aunt's."

Again, she jerked away, startled by the weight of years in those glasses. "I can't-"

"You can." Rick took her hand and squeezed it, letting it drop before she could grow too uncomfortable. "I didn't ask for priceless treasures; I just asked for something used and worn, something with weight."

"This is too much." She was back to that face again-inscrutable and hard. Rick was swamped with a fierce need to shatter that cool and intractable Beckett, but clenched his fists and fought it down.

"You haven't seen it all." He opened up the next cabinet and showed her the eight plates sitting there. "These are from Ryan and everyone in his family. I think two of them are brand new-Ryan couldn't get his mom to pass on old dishes." They both laughed at the idea of Ryan trying to convince his mother to regift. "Each person just took one of the dishes from their own set, so now you have a bunch of crazy designs from a crazy Irish family."

She pulled them down, one by one, to see the plates. A thick blue one made to look distressed, a little new. An old one, from the seventies most likely, with golden brown stylized flowers in a border. Another old one with a rose in the center and green thorns growing along the edge. A pale pink dish; a plate with brilliant tropical colors; a thick one with a single silver border. Another new one with a nice modern blue stripe; and finally, a brown and blue mosaic border on a white plate. None of it matched, but it seemed very much like her-at least to Rick-and she caressed the edges with something like reverence.

"All my plates now are from the dollar store. They match. They drive me nuts."

Rick laughed and felt inordinately pleased that he had guessed correctly about her. She accumulated things; he had seen that from her apartment before the bomb, and knew it from riding along with her, seeing her collect things in her desk drawers, squirrel things away in her car, collecting him as well.

"Everything in your old place was just so comfortable." Rick pushed the cabinet doors closed and leaned against the granite countertop. "I didn't want to pick things out for you; I wanted you to be able to do that. But I know you don't have the budget exactly-"

"I've got the insurance money." She had turned to lean against the counter next to him, her eyes sweeping the archway, taking in the wooden and brick steps, the light that poured through the bevelled glass of the windows.

"Still. What's the thing you miss the most from your old place? I mean, something replaceable, Beckett. Something you could pick out at a store, given enough time and money. I know the photos are gone, the souveniers and collectibles-"

"Way to cheer me up, Castle," she said, giving him a look which had so much gratitude behind the sneer that he couldn't respond. He didn't want her grateful; he just wanted her.

It was almost impossible not to touch her. But he managed it. "What do you miss the most?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, as if envisioning the place in her mind's eye. "The couch. That couch was-heaven. You just-"

"Sank right into it," he finished for her, smiling now at her closed eyes. "That was a great couch. Did it-was it burned or was it the smoke damage?"

"Smoke damage. I had to toss it. I called a couple of industrial cleaners, but they all told me the same thing-not worth it."

"If I'd known-"

"Castle," she said, shaking her head at him and opening her eyes. "I wouldn't have let you do it. Not worth it. Not economical. Just because you have the money doesn't mean you should."

"I wouldn't for myself; I'd do it for you."

He could see the hesitancy in her eyes, as if that was some committment she wasn't prepared to accept. So he smiled his little boy smile and clasped her hand in both of his. "So let's go couch shopping. Let's go get that same couch. Where'd you get it? Do you remember?"

She watched him for a moment, as if to say she wasn't fooled, but let herself be led away from the serious things. "I remember. Though they probably won't still have it."

"Can't hurt to try. Maybe we could special order it."

"Castle. That's assuming I need a couch."

"You do. Whatever you've got now doesn't cut it, obviously. Not if you miss the old one so much."

"I don't have a couch."

"See? There you go."

"But I don't have room for a new couch."

He gestured to the vast space before them, past the archway. "Sure you do. Look at this place. It was the most open floor plan I could find-"

"Castle."

He didn't want her to reject it, reject him. He wanted her to nod and take it on the chin, take one for the team, suffer through his generosity. He wanted her to sigh and roll her eyes, but come home to this every night, at the very least, come home to something he had helped to provide.

That was the crux of it, wasn't it? He wanted to provide her a home, and she was seeing that for what it was. Misguided and questionable at the best, and downright creepy at the worst.

"I don't think you understood me, Kate." He took her hand and brought her through the arch and towards the open living space. The walls on either side of the door were decorated with pressed sheets of tin or copper or something he couldn't identify; they repeated along the edges of the ceiling like molding. Or that might have been a strange kind of tile work, a mosaic along the walls. Above that was the balcony walkway with the two bedrooms, the open staircase coming down into the sunlight. He could see her there, creating that reading nook at the top of the stairs in the light from the windows, shelving all of her books by color along the low walls. He wanted her to fill this place with all her little collections, all those pieces and bits of her life. He wanted to visit her here in this safe nest, find her photos framed on the low shelves, put his feet on the coffee table ottoman thing, and find her favorite mug dirty in the ceramic sink.

"What don't I understand?"

"You have-" Rick rubbed a hand down his face and spun in the room slowly, his feet echoing strangely on the wooden beams, against the bricks. "Let me show you one last thing."

He went to the coat closet, a narrower door set into the stairs. The thing he pulled out was as tall as the door itself and wrapped in brown paper. He ripped it off and exposed the framed print.

"What is that?" She sounded shocked.

He laughed and glanced around at the print he'd picked up that summer in the nominal Chinatown of Dallas. "It's from Dallas; it's the story of the Frog at the Bottom of the Well."

She stalked towards him, regarding the strange black inked frog that stood half as tall as him, the Mandarin characters on one side. "Some kind of Chinese folk tale?"

"Yes. Alexis had a collection of multi-cultural fairy tales and stuff that she liked me to read to her. I saw this print and thought of that frog, thought of that story."

"Everything's a story with you." She was rolling her eyes; Rick took that to be a good sign.

In the print, the frog was walking on two legs next to the inky black river, a tree branch over one shoulder with a pack tied to the end like some bizarre hitchhiker. The frog's head was really a bird's instead, a bird swallowing a fish. Most auspicious, the painter had told him. "Mostly it just reminded me of the story."

"So. You going to tell me the story or what?"

She had put both hands in her coat pockets, but she didn't look like she wanted to walk out, despite the eye roll. Not yet. He might still save this.

"A frog lived at the bottom of a shallow well that had long gone unused. He was happy there and he was well fed, because insects would fall down into the well all the time. He had never been outside the long slippery walls of the well. But one day a turtle poked his head over the top and asked if he could stay in the well for the day; he was getting dried out in the sun, and he needed to soak in the well water. So of course the happy frog let him come down and wallow with him all day."

Kate had raised an eyebrow; a sure signal for him to get to the point.

"But while the turtle sat in the shallow well, he kept grumbling about the muddy water and the shallow amount. The frog was bewildered by the turtle's behavior because he'd never known that water could be anything other than murky and shallow. The turtle began to tell him a story about something called the sea. It was vast and deep and limitless. It was filled to the brim with life, and in it, the sea turtle had never known heat or want or boundaries-certainly not slippery stone walls and stagnant water."

Kate's face no longer held that guarded cynicism she wore when he spun a tale; she looked thoughtful in fact, that same face when he actually came up with a good motive for once.

"The frog asked why the turtle was down in this dirty well, if he used to be in the sea. And the turtle said he'd been on a long journey, but that he was trying to get back there. The next day, as the turtle was preparing to leave, the frog asked him how he knew for sure he could get back to the sea. And the turtle said that he had been there once before-he had to believe he could make it back. So the frog went with him."

She looked a little unsteady on her feet, her hands shoved into her coat pockets but her face turned away from him, towards the light again. He felt it in the room, the way the story had touched something, just as it always had with him. Back when he'd read that story to Alexis, he'd always felt like the frog and turtle matched himself and Alexis. But now. . .He cleared his throat to get her attention.

"There's more to the story. The turtle and the frog meet a river snake and a lake bird who decide to join them as well, and all four of them journey to the sea. They each have some perspective shift as they think about the sea in comparison to their little body of water. And that's what you do for me, Kate, what you've done-shown me what the sea can look like. Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm both the frog trapped in the only thing he's known and the sea turtle trying to get back to the best thing he ever had."

The best thing he ever had.

He couldn't look at her. He peeled the brown paper off the framed print and leaned it against the stairs, admitting to himself that the frog was rather strange and awkward, that the print didn't look half as attractive as it had a few months ago in Dallas on his book tour-half-drunk with sleeplessness and knowing that he missed her but had no right to her, knowing that she was Demming's and would always be someone else's. He'd had more hope back then than he did now, even though Josh was out of the picture and his way was clear.

Just as he was ready to hide the stupid print back in the closet and tell her she needn't stay here, Kate reached past him for the thing and began moving with it. She climbed the stairs to the blank wall between the two bedroom doors and leaned the print there, closest to the master bedroom. She took a half step back, careful not to go too far, and nodded. Then Kate turned around and looked down at him.

"It looks good right there."


	3. Chapter 3

She told him no.

But Kate spent the rest of the week digging around in this redevelopment group: Captain Development. She told herself that she wanted to be sure the company was legit; she was watching her partner's back. She discovered that he had, as he had said, not yet bought the place, thank goodness. But he'd also applied for and received a deed of transfer for a single unit-even though the rest of the apartments were not yet set up for the market. The building was zoned correctly; all the paperwork was in place. Checking through public records and court documents revealed no information on actual cost though; no freedom of information act could work in her favor since there'd been no sale and none of the apartments were yet refurbished. She was left with a frustrating nothing.

Beckett was irritated that he'd been clever enough to stall her investigation. She had visited the offices of the company he'd invested with-it took a lot of pulling teeth at the mayor's office to get that information-and then she'd met with the president, Bryan Malcolm, but he'd managed to dance around the subject all afternoon. He said it was the model apartment and therefore the value was inestimable; he smooth-talked his way through two hours of her steely eyed questions and given away no real numbers. He also spent the majority of the conversation trying to sell her on the place; he harped on having a police presence in the building, how it would drive up the asking cost, how she was really doing them a favor.

What it came down to was this-she needed an apartment, and this one might be workable. She made Castle sit down with her and a lawyer and Malcolm; she signed a lease which was exactly the same amount as the one she'd had before, a compromise, which gave her a rent-to-own option that Castle insisted on but also the dignity of paying a rent every month. Castle bought nothing. He had arranged the deal; it was his influence in every way that made it possible. But Kate was renting an apartment at her former price, with the option to own it in ten years' time.

The contract made it very clear. Castle didn't even stay through the whole proceedings, since it wasn't his money and it wasn't really his building. Sure, he was a financial backer for the company who owned the apartment, but it wasn't his apartment. She kept that in mind.

She was still saying no.

Once the lawyer was gone and Reynolds had left, Castle came back in the conference room, arms crossed, and refused to budge from his spot.

"You've got an apartment now." He didn't seem happy though.

"It seems like I do. No thanks to you." She gave him a smile, tried to ease the sense of wounded pride she could feel coming off of him.

"You made me sign legal papers."

"You made me rent-to-own." It rankled them both. She couldn't accept gifts. No matter that Castle had argued up and down that it wasn't a gift to her as a police officer. No matter that Castle was a friend. She just couldn't. She had said no.

But he had made it possible. The whole thing-it was his doing. She was still left with the bitter taste in her mouth over the fact that without Castle, she wouldn't have the apartment. He was still glaring; she was trying to smile because she had a place of her own, a real place that ached to be filled, and because he *had* helped. She wanted to drag him over there right now, revel in it, but that wasn't exactly Beckett-like.

"Then I'm getting you a new couch," he pouted.

Her grin cracked and she sighed-part defeat, part frustration. "I found one online," she admitted.

"Special order?" He said it like he actually wanted it to be special order.

"Yes."

"Perfect." He was coming towards her now, stalking her across the conference table in the police station. "Let's get it."

Not this again. She could *not* let him steal her away from her job. Not again. "I'm at work, Castle."

"You're technically on a lunch break."

She glanced at her father's watch on her wrist. The watch he'd found after the explosion and had repaired. "Break's over." She said the words mechanically, by rote, but she was staring at the watch, remembering that he'd remembered it. He'd taken care of it. He liked to take care of things.

"Play hookey for five more minutes," he said and his eyebrows were dancing at her, invitingly. She had the urge to tug on his ear. To touch him. She didn't know why.

"Actually, I asked the Captain for the rest of the day off." She put distance between them quickly and happened to see the flicker of surprise on his face. "So let's go, Castle."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

><p>She pushed him to the elevator and pressed the button herself. This time they'd walked and used the backdoor-as he'd called it-which was a personal lobby that required the key card at the back. The elevator from the back came out a little further from her door than those from the garage, but she could walk the extra few feet. She didn't often have the squad car to drive home, but maybe now that she had a locked space to put it in. . .<p>

The key card fit right behind her badge, which was strangely comforting to her, and she didn't even need to take it out since the sensor activated through the leather holder. If she wanted into the garage, she would have to remove it and swipe the barcode, but she couldn't see that as being much of a problem. Kate had to make an effort to put a stranglehold on her dawning excitement.

Castle was silent on the ride up, silent as she stalked her way down the hall, and silent as she opened the door. She took a deep breath of fresh paint, wood, and cold spring light, then locked the door behind them.

How could she possibly thank him for this? She couldn't say the right things, couldn't even show him. Except maybe if she let him see just how much-if she gave him first row seats to this, the installation of her own self in this apartment, then maybe that might begin to explain things.

Explain how little she was allowed to ask of him. Explain how much she-

Kate sighed. She turned to look at him, standing in the sunlight at the bottom of the stairs, his hair the color of wheat and his face smooth and unlined for once in the bright light. Like he'd been ten years ago, her age, and she saw in that moment how it would catch up to her as well, to everyone, just the difference of ten years. He had a scar at his temple, and one just above the crease of his mouth, and the laugh lines at his eyes were at rest now. He was not Castle, but a man she had suddenly come upon in a moment of serenity.

Kate stepped closer to him and pressed her side against his, finding his hand with her own. His face turned down to see her and the lines were back, highlighted now by the shadows they made and the genuine smile on his face. It reached his eyes, his nose, even his ears, that smile, and she spread her lips in response, a wide-mouthed grin that showed her teeth.

And then his face showed her Castle again; she pulled back, disengaged, and prowled the room trying to ignore the awareness dancing along her spine. She shed her coat and dropped it over the barre that ran along the far wall, and continued to pace.

"So what are you thinking?" he finally asked, his voice rough. And that told her too much, revealed too much.

"I want a couch," she said back, tossing a look at him.

"Well, I bet I could do that on my phone. I got an app for that." He grinned at his own joke and pulled out his phone as she continued to walk the length of the room.

"I've got a lot of books in storage-I should get all that stuff out first." She fingered the barre again, rubbing against the bronze screws that held it into the brick wall. "All this shelf space."

"Yeah, my books are going to take up at least half that-"

She gave him a half-amused glare and kept walking, touching the brick of the archway, the still-rough wood, the blue painted walls, the adorable shutters on the inside windows-she hadn't seen that before-the window in the brick archway where she could see through to the breakfast nook-oh, it was impossible to hold it all in her head. She had an apartment. A beautiful apartment. It was hers.

She clenched her fists and turned to Castle. "I've hired a truck; it'll be at the storage place in an hour."

"You got people to move all that stuff?"

"There's not that much of it, Castle. You saying you can't handle it?" She couldn't help teasing him, couldn't help wanting to see that defensive sputter, that back-pedaling she'd come to identify as so Castle. And he didn't disappoint.

"Hey now-"

She let him off the hook before he'd even opened his mouth. "Yeah, Espo and Ryan are coming down to help. A few guys from the squad."

"And me. Oh, and Alexis wanted to help-do you mind?"

"Course not." She spun on her heel and marched into the kitchen, picturing where to place things. A lot of her kitchen had been obliterated in the explosion, but she'd borrowed a few of her mother's things that her father still had packed away, and she was imagining them here. The decorative plate with its gilt border probably didn't match the bronze fixtures, but she still thought she might hang it in the brick next to the archway. That archway-simply gorgeous-the tall windows-

"I'll have her meet us back here then, after school?"

"What?" Kate ducked back through the arch to see him texting. "Alexis, right. Three o'clock?"

"A little before, probably."

"We should be back here by then."

"She's bringing some stuff."

"What stuff, Castle?" She crossed her arms.

"A few things."

"No." It was already too much.

"Linens stuff. She found a tapestry, she says, at Urban Outfitters. Don't hate it. Or no, well, you can hate it, just don't tell her you hate it-"

"Castle!" She made a fist and tried to relax, tried not to feel smothered. "This is too much."

"It's from Alexis. Just don't let her know you hate it-"

"Hate it." Exasperation oozed out of her every pore.

"Just don't-"

"I'm not stupid-" She stalked towards him.

"I didn't say-"

She took a quick step and grabbed his ear, pulling him towards the door. "You are not my favorite person right now, Rick Castle-"

"Apples, woman, apples!"

She let go and opened the apartment door, waiting for him to move past her and into the hallway. "You've got to stop. Seriously. No more charity."

He rubbed at his ear, but she could tell that he wasn't really hurt. Well, it probably did sting a bit, but he liked that. "It's not charity. You've got to learn to accept people's help, Detective. We all need help sometimes."

"Not m-" But she stopped that before it could come out of her mouth, shook her head at herself, and started again. "I don't like needing help. I appreciate you finding this place, Castle, making it happen. But I can't owe you-"

"Kate-Kate-" He grabbed her elbow, *again*, and jerked her to a stop just before the elevator doors. "This is not a debt. This is not a loan. This is just a pittance of what I owe you. I'm the frog, Kate."

She closed her eyes and shook her head again, but he was already letting go of her, moving away. She heard the elevator ping and then the doors slide open, so she rejoined his side and stepped on, taking deep breaths.

"It scares me, Castle." She kept her eyes on the numbers as the elevator plunged.

"I know it does."

"It should scare you too."

"Sometimes it does."

She couldn't look at him and say it. It was easier like this, side by side in the elevator, both of them looking at the numbers on the panel as they lit up in descending order. "I don't know that I can do this."

"I know that you can; I'm not scared for you. I'm scared for me."

She was left flustered in the elevator as the doors slid open and he stepped off.

Flustered and uncertain. Because what had they even said?


	4. Chapter 4

As they walked the last block, Castle thumbed his way through the order form for Kate's couch and tried to fathom how he'd gotten here. In his wildest dreams, he hadn't expected Kate to go for this. She'd said no. She had looked at him with definite regret when she'd said it, but she had said no. And yet, he was special ordering her couch and following along behind her as she went shopping for a few last minute things.

She had said no. He remembered it. And then a week had gone by, a week of Castle plotting out his next move (because of course it'd been far from over) and debating the best way to blackmail her into it. He had also even tried to find a way to trick her into entering some kind of contest, where he could jury-rig the prize.

But then two days ago she had come to his apartment and asked if she could with him. Detective Beckett, at once both completely at ease and also hesitant, had laid out her research on his kitchen bar, spreading out a file for him to review. She'd checked into Captain (the company he was now an investor for) and found very little to write home about. They were solid, new, looking to renovate the warehouse district of Manhattan. Their finances were on board. Their CEO had agreed to an off-record interview with Beckett.

And then, suddenly, he had realized she was saying yes.

Yes with terms and conditions, but yes. A yes that wasn't as irritating as he was making it out to be, not at all, because he was actually so very thrilled that she was going to move there that he knew he would have to grumble and complain like he wasn't getting his way in order for her to feel better about it. Complicated, sure. But it worked.

And now Kate was looking at him like he was crazy, standing with his mouth open in the middle of the street. He hurried to catch up to her, shaking his head at himself. Kate was walking too quickly; he took a few jogging steps and caught up to her again, risking another glance at his phone.

"The couch is ordered."

"You got the brown one-not the sage one?"

"Yup. Brown. It was called brown damask, right?"

"I think so. And not the loveseat."

"No, the full length couch. That couch was so comfortable. . ."

"I need to find chairs. My chairs were either in shreds or smoke damaged."

"What's in your apartment now?"

"A folding chair and a card table I got from Lanie."

He held up his phone. "There were some matching-"

"No." She shook him off and proceeded to jaywalk to the other side. Castle yelped after her to slow her down, and glanced both ways himself before doing the same. She took up where she left off. "I don't have a huge budget-I've got no budget at all, actually-but there's a used shop a block from here."

"Goodwill, you mean."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Actually, it's consignment, but I'm not picky. If I don't find anything suitable here, then Goodwill is next on the list. Plus they have really cheap accessories-you know, mirrors, end tables, lamps, that kind of thing."

"Are we shopping for everything today?" He was horrified and faintly aroused by the idea. "And where is the truck again?"

She was smiling at him again. "No, not everything. I just-I feel like claiming it, you know? I need my stuff in there, only I haven't got a whole lot left, so. . ."

So it felt less like a gift, and more like hers. Okay, he got it. He wasn't stupid. "All right. But let's also go to a couple of stores that I know of."

"No, Castle. I don't want expensive or matched. I just want. . .me."

"Yeah, get in line."

She smacked his chest and kept walking, but he was grinning. "Don't you think I know you by now? I've got a couple of great pieces in mind. I've been thinking about this for the last six months-ever since I saw that place."

She cast him a speculative look, a touch of disbelief in her eyes, but she gave him a quick nod and stopped in front of a glass door. "Let's go here first."

"Deal."

She rolled her eyes and let him open it for her, sweeping inside the cramped foyer of the place. Castle immediately loved the former brownstone-turned consignment shop-the black and white tile of the entry hall, the curio display case resting on a department store counter just inside the entryway, the thousands of objects crammed into the tight rooms and piled in neat stacks, labelled by size or era or whatever else. It didn't smell musty; on the contrary, it smelled like bleach and scented spray, something sharp like lemons or citrus.

Beckett had flashed her police badge to avoid handing over her messenger bag and was shoving it back into a pocket of the bag. He had a brief moment to wonder where her weapon was when she pushed her hands into the pockets of her coat and gave him a look.

He nodded and followed her through what was once a main hallway, avoiding the staircase-which was caged off and locked anyway, and moved towards the back of the house. It had been a kitchen at one point; there was fresh whitewall to cover old smoke and grease stains he supposed, but it still held that faint scent of eggs and bacon. He was surprised to see Kate disappearing still further into the shop and passed through a beaded doorway to find a broad, open warehouse.

He laughed, and she turned with a question on her face. "Just-you know-I was expecting more cramped, narrow rooms, and then it opens up to this."

She grinned back at him, her long hair swinging as she gave the warehouse a brief scan. "This section backs up to a warehouse district, so the owner bought out the house in front of his imports business and started a cosignment shop."

"Imports?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Completely legit, Castle. But it means some of the stuff in here is pretty nice, some of it is secondhand, and some of it is-"

She gestured to a chair shaped like a toadstool. "-unexplainable."

"I like it. What's this place called?"

"Out of Time." She gestured for him to follow her and began weaving her way through a densely packed jungle of furniture odds and ends. Nothing was organized back here, although someone, at some point, had attempted it. He did see a group of armoires together along the far side of the room, but there were odd groupings of furniture-ottomans without chairs, end tables stacked on top of coffee tables on top of dining tables, couches shoved up against headboards. He liked it.

He found that he was in the lead while Kate wandered a bit from the main aisle only to come back to him some minutes later, musing, scheming, discarding ideas. He found a wicked looking chair that his mother would love-tiger print and claws included-and was surprised at the price. Beckett had been right, of course; she could afford a few things from here, but then again, some were only in his price range.

Just then, Kate came up at his elbow with a grin. "I think I found something."

* * *

><p>After a full afternoon of shopping, Castle had discovered something important, something he even liked, but didn't exactly know how to interpret.<p>

Kate Beckett was shopping like a civilian.

She had let him open the door for her, and he'd gone ahead of her into a store and not once had he felt like he was being yanked back like an errant child. He'd taken point while she had fanned out behind him, surveying the store with those quick eyes, and then making a quick hand gesture when she knew where she wanted them to go.

So scratch that. Kate Beckett probably couldn't shop like a civilian. But Kate Beckett was shopping with Rick Castle and treating him like he was an equal and *not* a civilian. All those forms he'd signed, the releases and lawyers, all of that was ridiculous when it came to the crazy watchdog that was Kate Beckett. She had his back, and his front, and everything else. He didn't worry about it because she was constantly reminding him that he was a civilian and not an officer, that he should stay in the car, that this was *serious* Castle.

But shopping with her had made them equals. Yes, she was still canvassing the layout of every store for exits; yes, she was using those silent hand signals to indicate the direction of their attack; yes, she went through doorways making herself as small of a target as possible. But she did it with him, in concert with him, like he was on her team.

He really liked that. Kate Beckett was always a police officer, but maybe she'd accepted his status at her side as her partner. And that could only lead to good places.

She'd gotten a couple utility things at the first place they'd shopped (shelving unit for the closet, bathroom stand, oversized trunk for storage), so the store would deliver those items to the apartment. But some other odds and ends-like the ottoman she found at Goodwill and the kitchen table with the two wood tones-those they would need to pick up with the truck. Beckett was calling Esposito and asking him if he wouldn't mind the extra trips, so this gave Castle the time to call his daughter.

"Hey Dad."

"Kiddo. When are you heading over?"

"In about an hour." She sounded a little out of breath, so she must be hurrying-maybe just now getting home from school.

"Well, push it back another hour to be on the safe side. We're just now getting the truck loaded-"

Kate grabbed his arm, shaking her head as she covered the phone with a hand. "No. It's been loaded already. Ryan and Espo and a few others already got it-they're going to pick up some of the extra stuff."

"Oh, okay. Hey, Alexis? Never mind. Everything's on schedule."

"Did you tell Kate I was bringing some stuff?"

"Yeah, I had to."

"That's okay. But Grams found some beautiful sheets and I found those boxes of all the old stuff from my room-"

"Sure, sure, bring those too." Rick said good-bye and slid his phone back into his pocket just as Kate hung up.

"All right, it will take about an hour and half, maybe two, for the truck to make it back to the apartment. So until then-"

"Until then, we get to go to my store-right?" Rick bounced on his toes and rubbed his hands together. "Just one thing. It's perfect, and you need it."

"I need it?"

"Come on, Detective. One more place."

* * *

><p>She was a little put-off by the marble columns at the entrance and the receptionist (what else could she be?) sitting at the desk just inside. Chairs by Design. She wasn't sure exactly what Castle was up to, but anything in this place would have to be wildly and inappropriately expensive.<p>

And she was done furniture shopping. She'd found a gorgeous two-tone kitchen table that she was actually going to use in the main room (since Castle had put a low table in the kitchen already, and would not let her give it back). Castle had ordered her old couch from the supplier-direct-in her old fabric. She'd reluctantly let that go because she had loved that couch so much, but anything else. . .she just couldn't have him do any more. It was already so extravagant.

"Here we go," Castle said, snagging her elbow and dragging her to the steep staircase. "Up there you've got a few choices."

"Castle-"

"You promised, Beckett." He pushed her ahead of him up the stairs and she resigned herself to humoring him for now.

"What are we doing here? I've got chairs. Those two-"

"Yeah I know. For the living area. And you've still got that rigid wooden chair for the extra bedroom. You told me that already."

"Because you don't seem to be listening," she snarked, but kept climbing. The studio above the designer chair store was a broad white room that went the back of the building. Chairs were haphazardly arranged around the walls, with the interior space free for a work area and drafting table.

"Mr. Castle-"

A man detached himself from a bright red chair with massive armrests-like wings-and strode towards them. He was well built and about six inches shorter than Castle, his hair bristling black on his olive face. He shook Castle's hand first, then hers, lingering in a way that was completely charming and not at all smarmy-strangely enough-and then gestured to his studio.

"Ms. Beckett. I'm Rafe Rodriguez. My wife Maggie designs most of these you see here, but myself and two others stock a couple of stores around the country. Mr. Castle has some credit due to an unfortunate mix-up, so feel free to browse." He said it with dignity, but his eyes were smiling, like he and Castle had some kind of joke.

"That unfortunate mix-up was my mother's last-well, you know my mother, right?" Castle raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to the studio. "So pick what you like. I was thinking for that spot at the top of the stairs, where the sunlight comes in. Those built-in bookshelves are right there, and you've got about five feet of space for a recliner or-"

"Recliner?" Rafe snorted and turned his back on them for a moment to look at the chairs in his studio. "Recliner is a dirty word."

Kate laughed and tossed Castle an indolent grin. "You hear that? A dirty word, Castle."

"Anyway," he said, rolling his eyes. "You've got five feet. Well, the whole platform is 6 feet, but I asked a designer friend and she said to leave six inches on either side, especially if the chair swivels."

Kate glanced around at the chairs on the floor, a little overwhelmed by the sheer craziness of the designs.

"If I might make a suggestion?" Rafe said, stepping into her line of sight and smiling softly. "Don't worry about how it looks, not at first. Sit in every chair. Take note of the ones that are most comfortable to you. Then decide among those. Some of the designs may be offensive to you, or not fit in to your theme, but sometimes the way it feels can override those concerns."

"All right," she said slowly and tried out a smile. "Good advice."

Of course, there were no price tags on the chairs. She had no idea how much credit Castle might have at this place, but neither Castle nor Rafe seemed to care about that. Kate took a deep breath and started with the chair closest to her, deciding to go clockwise.

And hopefully, as he said, they would all be offensive to her and she'd be able to tell Castle no. And then get out of there.

She was telling him no this time.

* * *

><p>Something happened to Kate Beckett when she sat down. Maybe it was the soft nap of the material, maybe it was the wide arms with their plush, round padding, maybe it was just that she had been walking all over the city today and needed a rest. Whatever it was, it had her, and she stilled, then melted into it.<p>

To his credit, Castle didn't even smirk. She avoided making eye contact and instead let her head tilt back against the chair and the breath ease out of her. It was a new chair, a designer chair, but it looked centuries old. Victorian. Dark and deep velvet in a color like wine or cherry plums or beautiful evening gowns. The crown molding along the back rail was brushed copper-it matches the apartment, she thought-and curved out and down in sweeping gestures like royalty. The seat was deep, the back was high and thick, and the arms were perfect cushions at either side.

Four claw feet straddled the showroom floor and looked out of place amidst the modern, sleek designs of Rafe Rodriguez's studio, but it held its own. She swung a leg up over one voluptuous arm, then two, her head going to the other arm, her hair falling down over the side in a cascade from her loose ponytail.

Castle made a noise and she opened her eyes to see Rafe with a professional camera, flipping settings and adjusting the lens. She sat up and put her feet down. "Sorry-I-"

"No, no, that was-perfect. As you were," Rafe said, gesturing for her to get comfortable. "I just want a few shots for the studio-"

She wasn't comfortable being photographed and couldn't bring herself to lay back again. She glanced to Castle, as if for help, and then shook her head at that. "I couldn't. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. This is too-too expensive. Castle-" She stood up, ready to drag her partner out of there, when Rafe grabbed her arm.

She was immediately flipping back defensively, her hands moving before she even thought-but Castle was closer to her than Rafe even and had intercepted her movement. Castle got a glancing blow to his ribs before she managed to pull back on her force.

She was jumpy, apparently. Kate made a fist and pressed it against her leg, trying to control her breathing. She didn't like to be grabbed suddenly; she had trouble sometimes. Rafe didn't seem to notice her instinctive attack, but he did understand that Castle needed a moment to sweet talk her into something.

"No, Castle. I'm not spending your money."

He hadn't even opened his mouth yet, but at her words, he gripped her elbow a little tighter and pulled her closer for privacy. "Whatever the chair is worth-you're worth more. I saw your face when you sat down-"

She discarded the sentiment and frowned at him. "Castle. You just don't buy every little thing that comes into your path-"

"You think I'm doing that?" he said quickly, not quite masking the bitterness in his words.

Kate caught it and took a second to reign herself in. Taking potshots at Castle's wealth wasn't the way to handle this. "I don't want to do this, Castle. The chair is beautiful, of course it is. But I want to be able to eat chinese takeout in it and lounge all day in my sweatpants watching a Yankees game."

"It's your chair. Do what you want with it, to it."

To a thousand dollar chair? Never. She didn't say it, but she didn't have to say it. He could read it in her body.

Rafe stepped into the conversation with a unsubtle throat-clearing. "If I may make a suggestion?"

No. But Kate stepped back and allowed the man to interrupt.

"I will let the chair go for half of its price-if you allow me to photograph you in it. For the studio's catalog, for advertising-sign the waiver allowing us to use your image. Modeling fees, if you will. The rest will count against Mr. Castle's store credit."

God forgive her, but she hesitated. That was her mistake. Castle pounced on it.

"Modeling fees. Hear that? That more than pays for Yankee games and Chinese takeout. You do a little work for it, the chair goes home with you."

No. She couldn't. But her body still remembered the plush comfort of the chair, still remembered the natural curve of its arms that fit her spine perfectly. Kate could still see the chair in her peripheral vision. She felt her fisted hand twitch and release, and she knew her decision was made.

"Just a few photographs?" She bit her lip and glanced towards Rafe.

"Just a few. Not even a session. Just casual."

She turned toward Castle. "Go wait outside for the van."

He looked supremely crestfallen, but she saw him shoot a look at Rafe with clear intentions to get those photos later, and then Castle was walking back down the stairs. Kate watched him for a moment, then took a breath and turned back to Rafe.

"How do you want me?"

She *did* actually know how to do this. And never in a million years would she let Castle see that.


	5. Chapter 5

Rafe Rodriguez oversaw the loading of the truck himself. The two college-aged guys who babied the wide, heavy chair into the back were then told to follow along behind and help the boys get it into Kate's new apartment. Throughout the whole process, Castle bounced on his toes on the sidewalk, watching her, bursting at the seams to ask how the photos had turned out. She pointedly said nothing, didn't even meet his eyes.

But she knew she was smiling a little bit.

New apartment. New chair-beautiful, gorgeous chair-new furniture. Same old Castle. Kate wasn't sure how she'd let it get to this point; it was a slippery slope that she had been stepping on carefully, and now she was at the bottom, wondering how she'd managed to get so far down.

The stupid cappuccino machine started it. No, wait. Not the coffee-it was when he'd called the judge to get a warrant instead of going through the proper channels. That's what had set the pace for this. First a cut in line (which she still got flak for), then a cappuccino machine for their floor (which everyone in the precinct used, giving their floor death glares as they did), and now-

Now this. Beautiful things, all of them, but not how she thought life was supposed to go. He kept breaking all the rules. He jumped in line; he changed the way things went; he made up things; he had crazy ideas; he followed her into dangerous situations. How was she supposed to ever be comfortable with him at her side if he couldn't just stay in the car?

Once the chair was loaded, she shook Rafe's hand with a smile, hoping the clench in her grip would convey all it needed to (mainly, Don't you dare give those photos to Castle). Then Esposito started up the moving truck and Castle got the rest of the boys herded towards his car service, and they were ready to roll. The day was cool, the streets were clogged with traffic, and the sun had disappeared behind looming storm clouds.

Kate sighed as the truck pulled out into traffic. Esposito was driving, and he did a little head check towards her with a lifted eyebrow. It was enough.

"Thanks for helping me move," she said, opening the interrogation he so obviously wanted to have with her.

"About that." His words were flat, not teasing. She cringed inwardly and tried to straighten her spine, marshal her thoughts.

"What about it?" She wasn't defensive. Not yet. Wouldn't be, if she could help it. Detached. Neutral. Aim small, miss small.

"You sure you want to do this?"

She sighed. "No."

He grunted with surprise and followed Castle's car service onto Amsterdam. A couple more patrol officers who'd just gotten off-duty were following the truck.

"It's actually not easy to say no to Castle," she said finally, hoping she sounded amused. She wasn't. In fact, she was more than a little afraid; she didn't want Esposito to know that. In theory, she didn't like where this was going to lead her; she had never wanted to go there. But in practice-

"I can talk to Castle," Esposito said, a warning in his voice that Kate interrupted as big brother coming to the rescue. A tight place in her chest eased a little at that.

"I'm perfectly able to talk to him myself." She shot him a quick smile, accepting his offer and declining it in the same instance. "And I have."

She left anything else unsaid.

Javier rubbed at his neck as the truck got bogged down in early afternoon traffic. "All right then."

And just like that, the interrogation was over. Kate wasn't sure exactly what he'd managed to learn from it, but it had soothed his machismo. And it had let her know that both Esposito and Ryan had her back. That if it came down to mom and dad's divorce, mom would win.

* * *

><p>Detective Beckett organized the moving party into two effective groups, calling out instructions and delivering admonitions where necessary. Rick was pleased that she'd assigned the two of them to her floor, working together to arrange furniture and put away boxes, while the rest stayed on the ground floor to move things from the van to the elevator. She didn't shirk the load either; instead, Beckett manhandled boxes and containers herself, extricating things from the tightly packed elevator when it had made its way to their floor.<p>

They were on their second run from the elevator trying to carefully navigate Kate's bedframe (an antique and all of once piece) around the stairs inside her apartment. Rick carried one end of her bedframe and found himself paying more attention to Kate, and the way her hair caught in its messy ponytail reflected the sunlight, than to where he was going.

The flicker of warning across her face clued him in too late as he tripped backwards on the stairs, one leg going off the side and his body ready to follow. Kate, though carrying the footboard, attempted to keep him upright by tugging back on the bedframe, pitching her body towards the stairs.

He wavered for an instant, but it wasn't enough. He sat down hard, jaw rattling and biting into his tongue, one knee bent awkwardly under the bedframe, one leg dangling off the balcony. But as he collapsed, he held on to the bed, because now Kate was off-balance and pitched backwards as well. She managed to take a step down, catch herself, and shudder to a halt without tumbling down the stairs.

"You okay, Castle?" She was breathing hard, and the bedframe was shaking with their combined adrenaline. She eased it down and looked like she was going to vault over it if he needed her attention.

He nodded, waiting until she released her end of the bed to do the same, and then awkwardly maneuvered his left leg out from under it. His right leg still hung off the side of the open balcony, his inside thigh raw and tender under his jeans. He bent both knees and got to his feet, wincing.

"You're bleeding," she murmured, still separated from him by the bed.

"Let's get this moved into your room," he said, ignoring the bruised feeling in his extremities. Kate looked at him in askance for an instant, but leaned down and picked up her end again.

Rick did the same and paid more attention to where he was going, careful not to push Kate too far to either side as they maneuvered a full sized bedframe through the doorway. Her upper arms were bare, and coiled with energy as she slid the legs of the bed around the doorframe, and Rick had to push his tongue into his painful bloody lip as a reminder to himself to pay attention. And not to her.

When his first couple of novels had gone to the bestseller list, but his writing discipline was so poor, his first agent had pushed him into going to a psychiatrist. He'd been diagnosed with ADD and given medication. It had helped; he'd felt the difference the moment he sat down at his computer. Once he had the ability to focus, he'd developed better discipline and writing skills. And then he'd just quit taking it. Hadn't really liked what it did to him-nightmares, some sleeplessness. Without the pills, he had more bursts of inspiration, driving him to write at three in the morning until the sun rose-but he couldn't sit down at 5 o'clock and get through a chapter to save his life.

Now he remembered the other thing it had helped him with. Kate in a tank top with thin straps and jeans with the pants cuffed at her knees, sweating across a bedframe from him. . .he wished he had that ADD medication now.

Once the frame was where she wanted it-against the wall across from the open doorway-they wrestled the box springs and mattress onto it and dusted off their hands. Rick winced as he moved towards the stairs, a twinge in side as well.

"Am I still bleeding?" he pouted and shot her a glance over his shoulder.

"Can't tell. But you better watch where you're going." She smirked at him and poked him in the back with her knuckles, herding him to the open door of her apartment. Sunlight streamed through the windows and caught dust particles; Rick felt a little light-headed in the warmth, his tailbone ached.

"I'm just going to grab a piece of ice from your freezer." He moved towards her kitchen and heard her following behind. "I think I bit my tongue."

"Just turned on the water yesterday. Not sure if it's made ice yet." She made a sympathetic noise and reached past him to open the freezer door. "You're in luck," she murmured, digging ice out with two fingers. "Open up; let me see."

Like a child, Rick opened his mouth and let his lip pout, wanting to grin but knowing that would be a bad idea. Detective Beckett actually volunteering to take care of him? Well, there were a few precedents, he remembered. He wasn't about to make a comment on it though.

Kate used her fingers to pull down his bottom lip and he saw the grim look in her eyes just as he felt the pain flicker back through his nerves. Despite having her fingers on his lip, it wasn't half as sexy as he'd hoped. Darn.

"You bit your tongue and sliced through your lip too. Here." Kate rubbed the ice along the inside of his lip, thoughtlessly, like she didn't even realize, and the liquid chill numbed the burn of fresh blood. It also was doing pleasant things to the rest of him.

He manned up and took the ice from her fingers, afraid of where his body might go with such an alluring and pleasant temptation. Rick spread the quickly melting ice along his lip and then tongued it, letting the cool relief trickle down his throat, pushing it around with his tongue until it began to numb the worst of his pain. He couldn't help notice the awareness dawn in her face, along with the blush, and felt privileged to see it. Badly, he wanted to capture her hand with his still wet one, draw designs on her palm with the drops of water on his fingers.

Badly.

"If you're not too wounded, let's get the rest of my stuff," she said, quickly turning away from him.

Castle watched her until she was out the door, then he spit the ice cube into her sink and ran some water. Washing out the taste of blood with a few mouthfuls, Rick also tried to wash the images out of his mind as well. He needed to get his brain back into gear. He was pretty certain he'd have one of those three in the morning writing sessions with Nikki Heat later.

He could do a lot on paper that he couldn't do in person.


	6. Chapter 6

Alexis had arrived just as Esposito and Ryan were bringing up the last of Kate's stuff on the elevator, so a jumble of people and furniture fell out as soon as the doors opened onto the hall. Alexis was laughing, apparently at a joke Esposito had told which he refused to tell Castle, and Ryan was actually blushing, and the ottoman and kitchen chairs were teetering dangerously.

Alexis scooted out of the way to let her father grab a chair, and then Ryan and Esposito were untangling kitchen chairs from the elevator car. Kate grabbed a box of stuff so she could go ahead and show Alexis the way, leaving Castle with the boys to browbeat the oh-so-hilarious joke out of them.

Kate paused in front of the open door to her apartment to give Alexis a long look of appraisal. "Thanks for coming, for bringing all this stuff."

Alexis gave her that dimpled, inclusive smile. "Of course. It's just some stuff that I had extra. I mean, please feel free to dump whatever you don't want. There's three boxes of it. Ryan helped me get it all on the elevator."

"Three boxes?" Kate felt a faint uneasiness at the thought of all the stuff the Castles were giving her, (charity, her pride whispered) and tried to quell it in the face of this cheerful teenager.

"Well, see, when Meredith comes into town, it's just easier to go with it. Not put up a fight. That was Dad's suggestion. And it seems to work."

"You've lost me," Kate said, leading the way into the apartment and dropping the box on the floor. Alexis followed her and did the same, catching her breath as she looked around at the space.

"Oh, this is just gorgeous. You're going to have so much fun filling it up!" Alexis's eyes were bright, like it was Christmas, but of course, Alexis always looked like that. The ever-glowing girl.

Sometimes Kate wanted to break the bubble Alexis had willfully orchestrated around her life, show her that there was more to this than perfect grades and perfect smiles. But that was Kate's personal tragedy talking, and mostly she just smiled and tried to reinforce the girl's positive outlook. "It will be fun. Thanks in large part to you guys." Kate nodded her head at the box on the floor, realizing that it wasn't one of those she'd packed herself. Must be from Alexis.

"Oh, yeah. I really don't want you to feel like you have to keep any of it. When Meredith is here, she always has some project in mind. This summer it was redecorating my room, even though Dad had just let me buy some new things earlier. So I tried to get the same kinds of things, but still, I ended up with almost two of everything-"

Alexis shrugged, giving Kate a hesitant look as she stopped speaking. She looked like she realized she might have said too much.

"I understand. It's hard to be the referee between your parents."

The girl gave her a more genuine smile-honest in its tremulous and fragile lift. "It's not that. There's no side to be on, except mine and Dad's. Meredith just doesn't-she doesn't get it. And I've got to do damage control all the time she's here."

Kate chewed on her lower lip, quietly reevaluating the girl. A shopping spree should be fun. But it sounded like Alexis spent all her time being the responsible one. Kate could understand that. When they'd lost her mom, her father had stopped being the parent. Kate had been the one doing damage control.

"It sucks, doesn't it?" she said softly.

Alexis let out a puff of air, not quite a sigh, but waved her hand at the boxes, looking determined again. "Anyway, that means I've got all this stuff I can't use-extra lamps, pillow shams, decorative stuff. It's nothing fancy, and it's all mostly in black and white and purple-"

"I really appreciate it, Alexis. I'll give you back whatever I don't end up using."

"No, that's okay." Alexis smoothed her hands on her peach peasant skirt, then fiddled with the pendant on the long chain around her neck. "Really, what would I do with it? Just give it to someone else, or Goodwill, or one of those secondhand stores."

Kate nodded, and then on impulse, reached out and brought the girl in close for a hug. Kate didn't share personal things-not about her father, about the difficulty of loving someone who was doing life all wrong, not about what it was like to baby-sit someone who should be looking after you instead. None of that had ever passed her lips, or would. But Alexis-apparently she knew some of the same. So whatever bright bubble the girl had around her life, Kate saw that Alexis had built it carefully and with great concentration.

So Kate hugged her. She knew that had been the right move when she saw Alexis's face as she drew back.

The two Castles-Rick and Alexis both-seemed to be quite skilled at making expressive faces to hide their true feelings. Castle did his with boyish goofiness, while Alexis seemed to isolate herself with a friendly cheerfulness. Not that those aspects weren't also honestly part of their personalities-they were-just that they used those characteristics to mask other, deeper wounds. She saw that now in Alexis's face.

Kate only had a sliver of an idea of what it felt like to be motherless. She'd had her own mom for all her childhood. What she missed of her mom now were of course all those things that mothers did, things that Kate had firsthand experience of. Whereas Alexis had nothing to compare it to, no experience to draw on, no mother.

And that, more than anything, made Kate pause. If the girl needed a cheerful bubble, then Kate was going to let her have it. Alexis had brought over some decorative things, right? Fine. Kate could do that. Her own mother had taught her well.

"Show me what you've got, Alexis."

* * *

><p>Now that everything was in place, just as Beckett wanted it, half the guys were on the floor, the rest sprawled in the kitchen chairs, cracking jokes or talking about some case or family or whatever. Rick didn't often get a chance to hang out with the regular beat cops, the officers on patrol, and he found himself both eagerly caught up in their macho atmosphere and curiously separate, outside. It had usually been this way for him. As a writer, Castle spent 75% of his time recording, witnessing, making mental notes for some future chapter. He was responding to these officers' personal stories with genuine sympathy or delight, but he was also mining them for details.<p>

Beckett came into the kitchen with her cell phone in hand. "Pizza arrives in fifteen minutes guys."

They cheered; Ryan hopping up from a chair to open the fridge. "No beer though. Damn. Pizza without beer is a tragedy."

Alexis wandered into the kitchen at that point too, causing Ryan to flush red and glance to Castle. This guilty exchange made a flash of amusement cross Beckett's face, and she met Castle's eyes as well. As if daring him.

"Beer?" Castle started in, standing up to face Ryan. The guy swallowed, but to his credit, didn't back up. Castle couldn't maintain the irate parent look and grinned widely at Ryan's discomfort. "You're right though. The convenience store is just down the block. I'll get a case."

Beckett glanced to Alexis and then stepped up beside him. "I'll go with you. Might as well meet them. I foresee a lot of late night runs to that store."

Alexis looked hesitant for a moment, and Castle raised an eyebrow at her in silent invitation. But she shook her head. "Ashley's meeting me over here in a few minutes. I'll hang out here."

"You guys going out?" Castle said, trying for nonchalance.

Alexis rolled her eyes at him. Rather Beckett-like. He noted that even their stances were similar right now. Freaky.

"Ashley's got an AP test tomorrow. We're studying together."

"Is it your AP test as well?"

Alexis grinned, saucily Castle noted with despair. "Nope."

Castle frowned.

Kate-Castle didn't know where she got the audacity do this-gave Alexis a curling, 'go-get-him' grin and led the way out of her apartment. Inherent in her walk was a 'follow me' that Castle didn't have the strength to ignore.

He had a feeling that if those two teamed up against him, he was well and truly screwed.

And they might have already.


	7. Chapter 7

The four o'clock sky held a pearl-grey cast that diffused whatever light might be getting to the earth. The wind hit her as soon as she and Castle came out the back door of her new building, and Kate hunched her shoulders in her sweatshirt, pulling the strings on her hood.

"Wimp," Castle grinned and stepped around the dumpster and into the alley between the buildings, leading the way. "It's not that bad-"

The wind chose that moment to whistle through the alley, rocking her back on her heels, and Castle sputtered, eyes squinted shut.

"What was that?" she laughed, still grimacing with the sudden chill.

"I take that back. How'd it get so cold, so soon?"

"Mother Nature hates me," Kate muttered and hustled past Castle to get through the wind tunnel created by the alley.

"Wasn't it like sixty-eight yesterday?" he whined.

"Hurry it up, Castle."

"I'm coming; I'm coming."

She heard him behind her, muttering again, but as soon as she stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of her building, the wind ceased its brutal assault on the exposed skin of her mouth and cheeks. Kate took a breath of relief, wrinkling her nose as she smelled the dumpster still, and waited for Castle to catch up.

"Oh. That's better."

"Come on. I've got the pizza money on me; we gotta hustle."

Castle stepped in at her right side and they briskly walked down the sidewalk along First Avenue, heading towards the convenience store at the ground floor of a converted space.

"You find out what joke Ryan told Alexis?"

"It was Ryan's joke?" Castle stopped short.

Kate laughed, turning to give him a look that brought him to heel again. Castle hurried to her side, effectively blocking the worst of the wind, and she walked carefully just inside his wake. "It was Ryan's joke."

"How'd you know that? What's the joke?"

"Didn't you see his face when Alexis came into the kitchen?"

"I thought that was because of what he said about beer and pizza."

Kate shivered as another blast of wintery wind slammed down the street, then reached forward to snake her arm through Castle's, seeking his warmth. She didn't stop to think; she just acted. "Why would he blush over beer and pizza? Nope. It was the joke."

"What's the joke? Come on, Beckett, you gotta tell me!"

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, feigning ignorance. "I have no idea, Castle."

"You do too. It's got something to do with beer? An Irish joke?"

She raised both eyebrows, a smile struggling to cross her lips, and ducked her head to avoid the wind.

"That's cruel, Detective."

"Did you ask Alexis?"

"No!"

"Well, try that."

"If it's too dirty, she'd never tell me," Castle bemoaned, shoving his hands further into his jeans' pockets to keep them warm. "She'd rather be tickle-tortured. I know. I've tried it before."

"There have been other dirty jokes?"

"Well. I mean." Castle frowned at her and pressed his arm against his side, squeezing her hand between them. "No. You know, kids hear stuff. And they don't ask about it."

"They don't?" Kate found herself truly delighted in being able to needle Castle so thoroughly. "You do realize she has a boyfriend, right?"

He growled. "We've had *that* talk."

Kate grinned again and turned her head away so he wouldn't see it. "Well, at least there's that. Starting to worry me there, Castle."

"I bet your dad gave you the talk too, didn't he?"

And just like that, the smile was wiped off her face, her hand felt strange against his elbow. Kate moved to pull away, but he had her pinned with his arm against his ribs, his other hand coming out of his pocket to trap hers. Their fingers laced, for a second, no more, and Kate faltered, her misstep causing both of them to lurch. And yet he still didn't release her hand.

She could disengage. She had the training and the skills. But she didn't. And she wasn't sure why.

"My dad. He did," she said, clearing her throat. "And then I went to my mom and got the details."

"Oh."

Kate risked a look at Castle and was surprised to find the teasing had gone out of his face. She thought about what she'd said. _I went to my mom_. "It's okay. It's a good memory. I like to remember my mom. We laughed about how my dad had tried to explain things and that was that."

And his face wiped clean again, shifted into a neutral nothing that made her realize she had mistaken his sudden seriousness. Her own tragedy wasn't the cause.

"I'm glad you have that memory."

_But Alexis doesn't._

Oh. Kate winced and turned her head, unwilling to read the failure in his eyes. But what could she say? She'd had a mother, for however too-short a time it was, and Alexis did not. "I'm sure you did good, Castle." She slid her arm further into his, hooking her elbow around his, her fingers playing at the top of his pants pocket. "She's a smart girl. She's a good girl. And whatever she might be missing, you more than make up for it."

Castle turned surprised, and blatantly needy eyes towards her, his mouth open but nothing coming out. She had struck him speechless, and it pleased her.

"Let's go get the boys some beer," she said softly, and couldn't help lifting up on her toes those last few inches and pressing her lips gently against his jaw. She pulled back. "You're paying."

* * *

><p>Rick had a case in hand, cradled against his chest, and was recalling the way Kate's closed-mouth kiss felt along his jaw when they caught Alexis and Ashley outside Beckett's apartment building, holding hands quite closely and laughing. Laughing hysterically. The moment Alexis saw him, she blushed furiously.<p>

She'd told Ashley the joke.

Kate burst out laughing-either because of the look on his face or because she knew the joke and knew Ashley know also knew the joke-and leaned in to actually hug his daughter, one arm hooked around Alexis's neck as she still chuckled. "Are you guys leaving? Or you wanna come up for pizza?"

Rick was grateful she at least didn't ask if they wanted beer (he was feeling uncharitable towards her now), and he huffed as another blast of wind rattled all four of them.

Alexis was shaking her head, carefully avoiding her father's stare. "We've got to study. Well, Ashley's got to study; I'm just going to help. My AP Government test is next week, so I might do the practice test online."

It used to make him nervous. The way Alexis was just so responsible. And conscientious. And good. Teacher's pet in every class. In kindergarten, her teacher had confided to Rick that Alexis never took a nap; that instead, the five year old would watch her teacher the whole time, quiet on her rest mat, those bright blue eyes following her every move. Mrs. Shawl, the teacher, had said that Alexis made her so nervous, she had to get Alexis up and have the girl help her grade papers. Alexis got to put the smiley faces on the good ones. That was just Alexis.

And Rick? That was not Rick. He'd been the class clown in every grade, in every class, even to the point where he'd gotten kicked out. During his mother's heyday, Rick was at one private boarding school or another, usually with a backpack full of fireworks in one hand and the key to the girls' locker room in the other. Or if it was an all boys' school-especially those-Rick had super glue for the toilet seats, tampered cigarette lighters and cans of hair spray for the metal doors, the naked-running-man, boxes of detergent soaping down the halls, and fight clubs on the tennis courts. His first expulsion, at eight, was for putting his room mate in the hospital with a bruised liver. And he didn't even remember why. He'd just laid in to the guy.

Beckett was tugging on the beer, glaring up at him, and he realized he'd not been paying attention. He also realized that *she* thought he'd been thinking about that soft, gentle kiss on the cheek, so he grinned slowly, sensually, and let his eyes do all the undressing.

She blushed.

And he knew he had her.

Alexis was telling him good-bye, walking hand in hand with Ashley down the street towards the subway station. Kate had a finger hooked into the top of the case of beer and a red stain on one cheek-lop-sided blushing? adorable-and she looked like she wanted to absolutely strangle him. Or dismember him. And those might be the same events.

He had her. When had he gotten her? How had he not noticed it before? All this time, all this work, and he already had her.

His whole body opened up. Well, it didn't. Not like an alien came bursting out of his chest cavity or anything, but it did feel like his ribs were cracking open, spreading wide, his heart pounding so hard and furious that he had trouble catching his breath. He let her take the beer from him, leaning back as she turned towards the alley leading to the building's back, and only street level, door.

The confidence had sapped from her; he could see it as she walked away. And he knew it was because of him, because of what she'd seen in his face at that moment. Knowledge. He'd looked into Kate Beckett and he'd known.

He had her.


	8. Chapter 8

The awkward silence of the elevator ride up was finally broken by the ringing of her cell phone. Kate pulled it out and answered it, surprised at how good the reception was.

"This Kate Beckett?"

"It is."

"I'm Ross, pizza delivery from Iota's. I'm in front of your building, but I don't see any doors."

She grinned and glanced to Castle, reflex mostly, since he couldn't possibly have heard that. "Right. I'll come down and let you in. It's around the back. Alley on the right-"

"Got it. Meet you back there."

She hung up and the elevator doors opened on her floor. "Pizza guy is here. Waiting at the back."

Castle nodded to the beer she still cradled against her chest. "Take that in to the boys; I'll go back for the pizza." He pressed a hand to the elevator doors and waited on her to get off.

Instead, she set the beer on the floor and reached in her back pocket for her wallet, even as Castle was shaking his head. "You already bought the beer."

"Peanuts. Let me buy the pizza. I didn't have to do that much heavy lifting, and I'm eternally grateful. So let me feed them." Castle nudged the case of beer with his toe, pushing it towards the doors in a not-so-subtle gesture for her to get going.

Kate took out a couple of twenties and put her wallet back in her pocket; she folded the bills over and looked at Castle with a mock glare. He stood stoic in the car, not giving in, so she took one step closer and shoved the money in the front pocket of his jeans with two fingers, making sure she kept eye contact, lifting her lips into a smile as she did.

She felt his chest contract against her forearm, heard the catch in his breath, and her smile stretched wider as she bent down to pick up the case of beer. He couldn't see her face, thank goodness, but he was probably checking out her ass. She didn't look back, simply walked off the elevator and down the hall.

She hoped he remembered to tip the pizza guy.

* * *

><p>Inside her apartment, the boys had broken out the box labeled electronics and were setting up her television. It wasn't where she'd have chosen it to go, but it would do for now. She dropped the beer on the kitchen table that wasn't in the kitchen-the one she'd bought that day to work as a dining roomwork space right against the wall of windows. The kitchen chairs, all of them straight-backed wooden slats and painted in a variety of faded shades, were arranged around the television now but would go over here as well. She usually brought home a couple of cases a month to spread out on a flat surface and pour over in the silence, and sometimes, just sometimes, she still arranged a murder board for her mother's case.

So the kitchen table would be a nice place to work at out here. And she'd eat at the one Castle had made for the small breakfast nook.

"Where's the pizza?" Ryan said, standing up from behind the tv where he'd been twisting in coax cables. "Also, I can't believe you don't have an HDMI cord. This tv is awesome, but you're wasting its potential."

"Castle's getting the pizza right now. And what's HDMI?"

A collective groan went up from the boys, who turned as one to face her down. But she was smiling at them, a smirk on her face, and they caught it in time.

Javier stood up as well and grabbed the box of electronics, rifling around in it. "You do have one?"

"I do. But I think it's in a bag in my room."

Ryan made for the stairs. "I'll get it."

Of all of the boys, yeah, Ryan was the one she trusted to go in her room and come back out without messing with anything. "I got beer, though."

The grumbling turned into cheers and they all got up and swarmed the table. Kate took that time to escape up the stairs after Kevin Ryan, trying to remember where that bag of tv accessories and computer cords had gone.

Ryan was standing in the middle of her room with his hands in his pockets when she came in. He turned back to her and lifted his hands. "I didn't touch anything. Sorry. I forgot."

She arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing else. Always worked better if she remained a bit of a mystery. Kate stepped past him to dig through the open box she'd collected odds and ends into. "So, that joke you told Alexis-"

"Oh man," he groaned and slumped against the doorframe.

"Was it really dirty? Castle thinks it's dirty."

"It wasn't dirty!" Ryan bounced off the doorframe and paced the room. "It was Esposito that made it sound dirty."

Ah. That explained things. "It wasn't that story you told us about Jenny and the priest?"

"No!" He blushed fiercely at that and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. "And don't you dare tell Jenny that I accidentally told you guys."

"I won't. If the price is right," she grinned back at him over her shoulder.

"Castle really thinks I'd tell his daughter a dirty joke?"

"Well, no, he doesn't. That's the problem. He can't believe you'd do that, and yet, everything makes it look like you have."

"Did Alexis tell Castle what Esposito said?"

"No." Kate found the ziplock bag of cords and held it up in triumph. "You gonna tell me what Esposito said?"

If possible, his blush deepened. "No." Ryan rubbed at his neck and followed her out the door. "I can't repeat that. In fact, I don't think I can ever tell that story again. Not after hearing the way Javier said it."

Kate chuckled and shrugged. "Well, I don't care either way, Ryan. But you do know that Castle is persistent. He will wear you down."

"I know," he moaned and started clattering down her steps.

The guys still standing around her tv (but now with beer) turned to look at them, and Kate raised the HDMI cord in the air. "Found it. Catch."

Of course, Esposito managed to barehand it while also holding his beer and he gave her a head nod before handing it over to one of the beat cops. "You got this Mitch."

Mitchell (Kate could never remember if it was his first name or last name) started connecting the television to the blu ray player, and Kate made her way downstairs. At that moment, Castle crashed in the front door with four pizza boxes in his hands, using his elbow to shut it again.

"Pizza!" Castle's entrance had every eye on him, and in a drawn-out silence, every man in the room gave him an evil grin.

Castle glanced to Kate in bewilderment, then to Ryan, who looked absolutely terrified, and then to Esposito, who (Kate saw) looked entirely too pleased with himself. Castle hesitated at the kitchen table beside her, the pizza still in his hands, then realization swept across his face.

"Everyone in the room knows this joke but me, don't they?"

Esposito gave him a thoroughly self-satisfied grin and took the pizzas out of Castle's hands. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, this is so not funny."

Kate took one look at his face and burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand and turning her face away to gasp for breath. "Oh, Castle. Hilarious."

"It's not at all." He sounded like a petulant child. "Someone better be telling me this joke." As he talked, the boys were jostling around him to get at the pizza. Kate had paper towels to hand out, but no clean plates. She didn't think they cared.

"Come on. Someone tell me the joke already."

Kate smirked to herself as she grabbed a hot slice of sausage, pineapple, and extra cheese, and she was faintly glad that Ryan hadn't gotten a chance to tell her which story it was that Esposito had made sound so dirty. At the same time, teasing Castle mercilessly was turning out to be so much fun. "Get enough beer into 'em, Castle, and I'm sure they'll tell you eventually."

"Ha!" Castle grinned in triumph and pulled out a beer from the case. "Good idea. Espo?" He held out the beer like a challenge and, to his credit, Esposito took one long, last swig of the bottle in his hand, then reached for the one Castle was offering.

"Thanks. But it ain't happening, hombre."


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't fair that everyone in the room knew what was so funny and he didn't. He freely admitted he was pouting. But it was a welcome distraction, something to keep his mind off the game he and Beckett seemed to be playing.

Seemed to be.

Speaking of. Castle held back as the guys grabbed their pizza. Mitchell loaded up his paper towel so thick that it bowed in the middle and nearly spilled pizza out over the floor, but he managed to keep a hold of it and balance his two bottles of beer in the other hand. If Castle remembered right, Mitchell had just taken his detective test a few days back; the writer figured that was why he was helping out today, trying to get a foot in the door. The other guys here-Curtis and Dominguez and Mohan-were also potential detectives he realized. Of course, the two college guys had left sometime after grabbing a beer; he'd seen them leaving the lobby, one on his cell calling for a ride.

Now that everyone had pizza and a few beers, Castle surreptitiously glanced at Beckett, following her lead. Poker night was one thing, in his own home, but in her space, with her rules in force, he wanted to do the right thing.

Her beer was on the table, but she also had brought her sports water bottle out from the fridge; he saw her taking sips from that rather than the beer while she ate her pizza. Looked like she'd be nursing that one beer for the rest of their dinner party, despite being home for good. Or at least, he thought she'd be home for good.

Thing was, she had a sore spot when it came to alcohol. He knew it. It didn't usually change his own habits, because he was responsible about it, and he hardly ever drove anywhere, let alone after drinking. But he knew she unconsciously inventoried every sip. She was hyper vigilant about it in herself, and in others, because of her father's history. It was the judging others Rick was worried about.

He put his own beer down, half empty, and went into her kitchen for a glass. He pulled out a few ice cubes from the ice maker inside (he had a thing about getting it through the door, germs or machines, something about it disturbed him), then ran water in his glass from the tap. It tasted flat compared to the lovely, bold, sour swirl of his beer, but he was following Kate's lead on this.

When he came back for his pizza with a water glass in hand, she noticed. He saw her notice. He pretended not to notice and grabbed a paper towel, loading it up with the sausage and pineapple combo, plus the one with olives and meat. He wasn't a fan of the pineapple exactly, but he knew she liked it a lot, and that she rarely ordered it when she was with other people because she was the only one who ate it.

He realized he was trying too hard. But it was the only thing he knew to do.

He took a large bite of pineapple and sausage, a little surprised to find that the fruit was sweet and the sausage spicy, a combination that bit and soothed at the same time. Interesting. He could definitely do fruity pizza if it was with Beckett.

And speaking of. He had almost forgotten again.

Rick pulled her twenties out of his front jeans pocket, holding them up in front of her with two fingers (delighting in the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face as she saw what they were). He took a sip of water, all innocence, then set his glass and pizza down. Rick stepped in really close, so that she was nearly backed up against the wall of windows. She was wearing those cute cuffed jeans, her tank top had been covered with a loose white button down shirt, but her hair was down around her shoulders again so that he smelled the faint whiff of cherries and sunsweat.

He held up her forty dollars and winked, then slowly, slowly, pushed the money into her front pocket with his two fingers. Her thigh was warm, her pocket tight.

She was good. She didn't even blink. None of that look that she'd given him outside on the sidewalk. Just blank, carefully blank.

Rick himself was finding he had a little trouble getting enough air into his lungs. Oh, that's why, he was holding his breath. He was waiting for her gun to appear, or her fist to connect with his jaw rather than that soft, chaste kiss she'd given him earlier.

None of those, though. She did, however, frown at him. "I told you I'd pay for pizza."

"I know." He was smirking; he could feel it stretch his mouth.

"That's not funny, Castle."

"It is a little bit. The idea that you thought I'd pay with those two twenties you pushed into my pants like a strip-"

"Castle," she bit out and reached up to tug on his ear. It didn't hurt, but it brought her close enough to smell again. He was going to get in trouble tonight.

Well, he wasn't drinking, so maybe he'd manage this. "You got another thing coming, Detective Beckett. I kept those in my pocket just for you. Payback's a bitch."

What do you know? He got a quirk of the eyebrow, and the faint traces of a smile ghosting her mouth. "What am I going to do with you, Castle?"

He grinned widely. "I've got all kinds of ideas. Do you want to start with the stuff that's safe for the kiddies to hear, and then work our way through the ratings, or do you want me to just start with the steamy stuff?"

She barked out a laugh and shook her head. "I guess I had that coming."

* * *

><p>The guys had finished off the beer, and only a few slices of pizza remained. Mitch had fixed her tv and hooked up her blu ray player so that they could get reception for the Knicks game. Mohan (she knew his name only because Castle had told her again) was, funnily enough, putting light bulbs in all her lamps for her; Ryan had found the trash bags and was dumping stuff inside. It looked like things were winding down, but no one was really moving.<p>

She was grateful for their help, but she wanted to get started on organizing her new apartment, arranging things. The television was completely off center-she'd move that first-and she needed to make space for the couch when it came. She was looking forward to that couch. She also had to put sheets and stuff on her bed so she'd have a place to sleep tonight. She'd unpack the kitchen first so she could run plates and bowls through the dishwasher-might take a couple of loads. And she itched to get at those bookshelves.

Castle looked like he was itching too. He was alternating between the game and herself, staring at one and then the other. She was used to it, but not exactly with such a crowd. Usually it was just the boys and Castle and her, and when the writer got a little obsessive, she made a snide remark and he kept his eyes to himself for an hour or so. But she wasn't going to say anything with Mitch and Mohan and-what's his name?-still here.

Castle's beer was half-full and sitting on the kitchen table, far from his sprawled form in the floor at the foot of her television. He kept telling her she needed a projector too, make it really big. She was mostly ignoring him. Her own beer was three-fourths gone and had started to taste like sour milk, so she got up and dumped the rest of it down her kitchen sink. She washed out the smell by running the water a little bit, then turned around to head back to the living room.

Castle was right behind her; he put his beer bottle on the counter, his arm brushing hers as he moved it past her. She had the sudden fierce urge to capture his wrist with her fingers and draw him in even closer.

Instead, she took a shallow breath and stepped back a little. "Think the guys are ever going to leave?" she said, raising an eyebrow, trying to shed the awareness that was making her nerves dance.

"They look permanently glued to the game out there. But it's only another ten minutes in this half. Then the party'll bust up, I'm sure. Why? You anxious to get rid of us?"

She shrugged and smiled back at him. "Not everyone. I just want to get started on everything. It'll be soothing."

"Soothing? Unpacking all this stuff?" He was looking at her like she was crazy.

"Organizing everything. It makes me happy." She shrugged again at him, standing in the kitchen with the early evening coolness creeping between them. The light had gone an hour ago, which was why she had a police officer screwing in light bulbs in every lamp he could find, but the kitchen's overhead lighting picked up the warm tones of the brick and copper and made the place feel comfortable.

"Want help?"

She paused for half a second. Not because she was trying to figure out how to tell him no, but because she realized that she would actually like his company. It should scare her. It didn't.

"Yeah, actually."

Castle must have seen the surprise on her face because his smile was lopsided and goofy. "Awesome. I'm terrible at organizing, but I'm really good at being distracting. You won't get a thing done."

She laughed, shaking her head at him. "You'd better not. I'll tie you to a kitchen chair."

Both his eyebrows shot up. "I'll hold you to it."

How did she keep walking straight into his terrible innuendos? Kate sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Best to ignore him when he was on a roll like this. Acknowledging it only encouraged him. "While I run the dishes, you can start unpacking all my books. Then we can arrange the bookshelves."

He tilted his head and watched her for a second. "Holy crap. You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious."

"What a party animal you are."

"If I'm boring you, Castle, you can always leave." And even though she was kidding with him, and he with her, something about the words made her chest clench tight, like a fist was squeezing all the breath out of her as she waited for his answer.

"You're never boring, Kate." He reached out one long arm and hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans, tugging.

She didn't come closer. She stood her ground. She glared at him.

But she didn't dislodge his fingers.


	10. Chapter 10

Rick was wrong. The half had come and gone, and the boys were still here.

He was slightly miffed. And a little antsy. He had plans for this evening; he had things he wanted to get accomplished, points he wanted to make, a claim to stake. He had her.

Of course, the moment he'd gotten back to the apartment with their pizza, she'd been back in control. All those walls, shutters, blockades she had were back in place. Guarded. But he knew he could get back behind them again, knew he needed to do it now, before he lost more ground. Never retreat, never surrender.

Detective Beckett was sitting in her Rafe Rodriguez chair like a queen. Rick had intended it to go at the top of the stairs in view of the windows, but she'd asked the two college guys to leave it down on the main floor. Now she was sitting with her feet curled up under her, her chin resting on her palm as she half-watched the basketball game. The boys were cluttered around the tv in chairs or on the floor, while she sat, regal, in the midst of them all.

And, at the same time, not in the middle of them at all. She still had that one bottle of beer on the floor next to her, but she hadn't taken another sip. Rick had been watching. He remembered the end of the year party they'd had before that disastrous summer, remembered her drinking but couldn't remember if she'd had more than one then either. In fact, when they went out to the Old Haunt, she nursed her drink there as well. He had seen her with a glass of wine-unfinished-and never, never drunk. He'd seen Ryan knock back quite a few, and get a little more silly, and he'd seen Esposito crazy buzzed, but not Kate. One of the boys, but not.

She wasn't a part of it this afternoon either. Beckett had talked with everyone, joined in with the 'laugh at Castle' moments, done her fair share of ribbing the beat cops, had a smile on her face. But she was removed. An observer like himself. Right now, with most of the boys talking about basketball stats, she sat solitary in her chair, picking at her thumb nail with a finger, her eyes far away.

He knew what it was too. She wanted to get started. She admitted as much to him already, but her itch to get things settled, organized, in place-it went deeper than she liked. She'd never throw the boys out, but she wanted them gone.

Rick felt the same. And he was always the observer. So when he noticed that every single guy in the room had his phone out at one point or another, he made another observation. They were all tethered to their cell phones. He'd been the first to fall victim to it, of course he was; he loved gadgets. He was always taking a photo and sending it to someone, updating his twitter status, or texting his daughter. But so was everyone else. Even in the middle of lifting a kitchen table into the elevator, someone's phone had gone off. At no time was there a phone *not* out.

Right now, it was Esposito. And the half-leer on his face meant it was from Lanie, no doubt. And probably suggestive. But Rick had seen Ryan take two calls privately-walking upstairs to the extra bedroom-and texting as well. Jenny, most likely. Mitchell was sharing texts with at least five people; Rick couldn't imagine that only one person was texting Mitchell so insistently all afternoon long. If it was Mitchell's wife (and Rick had asked; Mitchell's wife was named Carla and she was a ballet dancer, go figure), then Mitchell was more than whipped, he was enslaved.

Everyone had someone else who wanted their attention. Everyone but himself. And Beckett.

His excuse was good. Alexis was with Ashley and wouldn't want him interrupting for anything. His mother rarely called, and probably didn't really know how to text. Any time he got a text from her, it was really with Alexis's help. And for Richard Castle, there was just those two. And Beckett? Well, wasn't *he* always the one calling her, interrupting her, messing with her?

Rick pulled out his phone.

_Notice we're the only ones not texting like mad?_

After a second, Beckett jerked a little, the look in her eyes returning to earth. She slid her phone out of her back pocket (Rick was trying very hard not to do the creepy staring, lest she notice him) and checked her message.

Her eyes cut immediately to him, but Rick was steadfastly watching the game. _Watch the game. Watch the game. Don't look at her._

She made him sweat for a good two minutes before his phone buzzed next to his thigh. He didn't check it immediately, but took his time to relish the anticipation, wondering if she was watching him now, wondering what she'd said back.

_Hadn't noticed. Guess now we are. Thought u said they'd b gone by the 1/2._

He couldn't help the smile that curved up his lips; so he'd been right-she *was* ready for them to be gone.

_My bad. New prediction: end of the game. I think Lanie's getting restless. Espo might be first to go._

He waited a beat before letting his eyes slowly, slowly slide back up to check her out. She was looking right at him, dead straight, a quirk of a smile on her lips. She'd apparently gotten his message, because she shifted her eyes to take in Esposito, who was sitting on the floor and again checking his phone. Esposito's grin cracked wide, and Kate's grin mirrored it.

Rick waited, and sure enough:

_Might b bcause I txted Lanie to help get the boys outta here. who knows what dirty promises she's made him?_

Castle laughed out loud and glanced up at her, wondering when exactly she'd texted Lanie for help, since he'd been watching her all afternoon.

Ooh, that was a creepy thought, even for him. Castle chuckled to himself and went back to his discreet conversation. He liked the way the phone made those talk balloons, like they were superheroes in a comic book. Or maybe it was just texting with Kate that made him happy.

_You make me some dirty promises, and I'll get rid of all the others._

This time he *had* to watch her face when she got that one. He wasn't disappointed either. No reaction. Smooth face, blank look. Which meant, of course, that he'd gotten to her. The more blank her face, the more she was trying not to react. She was texting back, fast, her thumbs quick.

_How's this? You get boys gone, you get to clean out kitchen cupboards. I'll bet they're filthy. All that construction dust. If you're good, you can even get laid-the contact paper that is._

Castle huffed a breath and replied back, imagining a contact paper-wrapped Beckett despite himself.

_Is it wrong that I'm a little turned on right now? A woman who knows the difference between your and you're, their and they're-and doesn't compromise even for texting? Wow, Beckett, hoooooot_

She giggled. Oh snap. He'd made her giggle! Kate had a hand over her mouth and her face turned away from him, from everyone, but he totally had heard her giggle. Victory!

Time to get this show on the road...

"Ryan." Castle stood up, gesturing for Kevin to follow him. Ryan, surprised, put his phone back in his pocket with a nervous gesture.

"Yeah, Castle?"

Rick jerked his head in a 'this way' kind of move, shuffling over to the entrance of the kitchen. "Hey man."

"What's up?"

"That Jenny?" he said softly, nodding towards the phone in Ryan's pocket.

Ryan blushed, lips pressed in a thin line. "Yeah. We were supposed to sample wedding cakes."

"You forgot?"

"No!" Ryan rubbed a hand down his chest and winced. "Not exactly. I mean, I remembered, but I told her I was helping Beckett move, and that I didn't know how long-"

"Seriously? You told your fiance you were gonna be helping out another woman, and that you didn't know how long it would take? On a day when you're supposed to be picking out a wedding cake?"

Ryan blushed again and crossed his arms. "Well-"

"As a man who's been married *twice* I think it's my duty to inform you-that was a bonehead move."

Ryan sighed. "All right. I got it." He shook his head and stepped back towards the room, raising his voice. "Okay guys. I gotta go. Late for a meeting with Jenny."

Right behind him, Castle let out a gasp of shock. "Now it's just a meeting? Kevin Ryan, I never-"

"Shove it, Castle." Ryan stalked to the front door, tossing a head nod to Javier. "Beckett-hope you like your new place."

Kate was already standing up to say good-bye, her face a wash of surprise and sudden uncertainty. Rick met her eyes and grinned widely.

One down.

And now Esposito was standing up as well, dusting his hands off on his jeans, rotating his neck on his shoulders, flexing his arms. "I gotta run too, guys."

"Lanie want you?" Castle said, still standing by the door as Ryan was leaving.

"Funny, man." Esposito's face said it clearly wasn't funny. "Adios. Beckett-call me if you need me to come back and toss this comedian."

Beckett nodded and said her thanks, and suddenly all the guys on the floor were getting up, moving the kitchen chairs back around the table, cleaning up their paper towels and pizza crusts and beer bottles.

Castle stood by the door and watched them leave, one by one, nodding to the ones he'd just met, but never taking his eyes off Kate. She looked like a deer in the headlights. When they were finally the only ones left, Castle shut the apartment door, pushed his hands into his jeans pockets, and smiled.

"What now, Detective?"


	11. Chapter 11

Kate watched him for a moment, standing just inside her apartment with that smug look on his face. Castle was bouncing on his toes like a kid. She felt like she needed courage for this, courage she didn't have. So, she faked it.

Stepping closer, she let a smile draw across her face. "Well, Castle, you said you wanted to get dirty."

His face did that blank thing-where shock just smacked him silly-and she loved to see it. She felt powerful.

"Definitely. Dirty is my middle name."

His face was so intense, the lust overwhelming the humor, that she took a step back.

He saw it, and gave her a grin. "You asked."

"You did too. Ready to clean out the cupboards?"

His face fell, making her smile, but he did turn obediently for the kitchen. She followed after him and grabbed the first box. "I'll unpack stuff, run it through the dishwasher, and you can wipe down the shelves."

He made a face but took the cloth and surface cleaner she pulled out of another box. He opened the cabinets beside the oven and looked inside. "They look clean to me."

"Castle."

"All right, all right." He sprayed the cloth and then the shelf, and wiped it down with a grimace. He looked like this was not at all what he'd been planning. She watched him for half a second, then turned to her box, pulling things out.

She was safe again. The month-to-month had been a nightmare. No security in the lobby; the doors were flimsy; the chain was too loose to really hold if someone was persistent. She'd felt unsafe there. She was safe here. It wasn't that she felt like she needed protection, but there was something about knowing the doors to this place were thick and solid, that the deadbolt couldn't be overcome, that the lobby and the elevator required a key card. Those things, the beautiful space here, it made her relax again.

She never gave in to it. She soldiered on. Those nightmares never happened. The flashbacks weren't getting to her. She didn't have panic attacks in the bathtub.

It helped having him around. She could admit that now. He made things fun again. It hadn't been all that long after her dark obsession with her mom's case that she met Castle. Only a few years since pulling herself out of freefall, since looking at herself in the mirror at four o'clock in the morning and admitting that sometimes, the good guys didn't get the bad guys. Sometimes bad things happened and no one paid. And she would have to live with it.

Two years of living with it, living in the light once more, working herself back to a solid foundation, to stability. But it required effort. She didn't have the strength for laughter or silliness or easy friendships. She'd been too serious. She'd been too focused. She'd been somber and tough and a good detective, but she hadn't been living any more. She'd been afraid to drink because of her father, afraid to take a breath, afraid to let go of the tight hold she had over herself. Because if she let go, then that dark obsession might snatch her back.

"So-" Castle drawled.

She'd almost forgotten he was there, so lost in her thoughts.

"So?"

"Why half a beer tonight? You trying to prove to yourself you're not your father?"

Holy-If he wasn't Castle, she'd slap him.

She might slap him anyway.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Kate." He was still wiping down cabinets, which told her that he wasn't as confident as he sounded, but he was calling her 'Kate,' like he always did when he wanted to score some personal hit. "You've been doing it for awhile now. You'll take a beer, like you don't want anyone else to feel uncomfortable drinking around you. But you barely touch it."

"Castle."

"I can't exactly figure it out. You never had a drinking problem-"

She growled at him and spun around. "Yes, I did. Someone in your family has a drinking problem, everyone has a drinking problem."

He looked over his shoulder at her in surprise. "But surely you can't think it's genetic. Just because your dad-"

"No, Castle. It's not that. I'm saying, I've seen what it does. I've seen it. And I can't stand it. I just can't stand it."

She turned back to the box, unwrapping another bowl from the wad of newspaper, pissed at herself for saying anything at all.

"You said-the watch was for the life you saved. How did you save him?"

She didn't want to be having this conversation. Had she thought she needed courage, earlier? No, she needed strength. She needed endurance. She needed for him to shut up and stop probing, stop peeling back the layers, just stop analyzing. She didn't want to be gutted out, not tonight.

"I can't do this, Castle." She put the bowl back in the box, and then walked out of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Oops. That was too far.<p>

Rick grimaced and wiped down the shelf, mentally berating himself. He'd had one job to do-wipe down the shelves-and instead he'd pried into the most sensitive part of her past. He was an ass. He knew it. Sometimes he forgot about the human beings behind the story. He got so wrapped up in the story, he misplaced his own compassion. She wasn't going to talk to him now, not after that.

He wasn't going to convince her to start drinking. Not that he wanted to do that anyway. He'd just been curious about it, about how she hid it from everyone, and yes, some selfish part of him had wanted her to know that while everyone else was fooled, he was not. He alone had noticed, because he alone knew her.

He sighed again and closed the cabinet door, sliding over to the next one. He didn't want to be wiping off shelves in here while she was out there, pissed and hurting, but he figured this was actually the only thing she was going to let him do for her. She sure as hell wasn't going to let him apologize and offer comfort. So he kept wiping down shelves.

He'd struck her, managed to hit her in a place that still hurt. She'd had that same look on her face when he'd had to tell her that he'd looked into her mom's case against her express wishes. Betrayal. And seeing that look hurt him too, bewildered him even, which had made him defensive, and so he'd kept pushing.

He really was an ass. So he kept wiping off shelves.

When he was finished, and every surface area had been wiped down, every cabinet dusted out, Rick began unpacking the box she'd left behind. He opened up the dishwasher and loaded it as he unpacked, remembering that she had wanted to clean them all before putting them away. She was meticulous; she had an order to her life; she wanted things done in a certain way. She had rituals; she put meaning in things; she wore her mother's ring on a chain around her neck and her father's watch on her wrist. And here he was trying to have a casual, no-big-deal kind of conversation about it.

Now that he was actually thinking, and not just putting his foot in his mouth, he realized that storming her defenses was the surest way to get himself killed. She had to be won over, not beat down. She'd never surrender. And battling at her father and her father's problems was like shooting flaming arrows at the castle walls.

Heh, the castle walls. He wished.

Rick pushed in the top rack and began loading the bottom with plates he pulled from the second box. Newspaper littered the floor around him.

He was still intensely curious about the drinking thing; he wanted to know why she did it-was it a way to prove her own self-control, or was it truly because she didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she wasn't drinking? Did she think she might wind up with a drinking problem too, or did she indulge at other times, with other people, when she felt safer?

That hurt to think. Had she gotten drunk with Josh? Did she and Lanie get smashed when they went out? Were those two allowed to see the Kate without the Beckett?

He slid in another plate and had the decency to feel bad about that last thought. About how selfish it was. Because it told him that he hadn't pushed her just because he was curious, he'd also pushed her because he was hurt-hurt by the thought that she didn't feel safe enough to get drunk with him around.

It wasn't that. He was quite sure now that it wasn't that. He shoved in the rack and dug around in the cleaning supplies box for some dishwashing soap. He found a little blue packet of stuff and put it in the holder, then closed the door. He locked it, studied the controls for half a second, then started the dishwasher. He felt kind of proud that he figured that out and was congratulating himself when he heard the intake of breath behind him.

"Castle?"

He whipped around, guilty, and found her in the archway, a funny look on her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Uh, running the dishes." His words only seemed to confirm something she'd already thought because the funny look on her face didn't change.

"You unpacked the rest of it?"

"Uh, yes?"

She glanced around the kitchen, her bottom lip between her teeth. "And you finished wiping off the shelves."

He didn't answer, because it didn't look like she needed an answer. He just stood there, in his most contrite manner, hoping she'd give him another chance.

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I offered to stay." He was going to let her off the hook if she needed it.

She shook her head. "Not apologizing for that. I'm sorry for the way I acted." She slid one foot into the room and then stepped forward, her eyes coming to meet his, full of dark secrets. He'd never seen her so disconcerted, so off-balance.

"Apology accepted. I'm sorry I don't know when to shut up."

She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth again, then glanced down at his feet, back up, behind him to the dishwasher. "Thanks for starting that."

"Always." But he noticed she *hadn't* accepted his apology.

And that worried him.


	12. Chapter 12

Her hands were trembling. She cursed herself and shoved her hair angrily away from her face. With a rubber band, she wrapped it quickly into a bun and took a deep breath, ignoring the strands that did what they want and fell in her eyes again.

Kate Beckett did not like to be in anyone's debt.

But she owed him an explanation.

She'd already apologized, but she knew that was still cowardly of her, because of course Castle was going to meekly accept it and turn it around on her, offering his own apologies, not meeting her eyes at first, giving her space. Because he was a master manipulator and he knew her so damn well.

Kate left her bathroom and turned off the light as she went, made her way softly through her bedroom, clicking off that light as well, and then out onto the open balcony, still counseling herself to take deep breaths. Castle was in the kitchen, drying dishes, because after she'd apologized and he'd apologized, she'd run away again. And she knew that he didn't know what else to do but keep at it.

Keep at it.

He was like that. And she was going to have to explain; she owed him an explanation. She didn't want to be here, had kept him away with everything in her power, had scowled and teased and built herself a strong defense, but somehow he had bought her an entire apartment. *An entire apartment.*

Of course, she'd placated herself by saying he'd only picked it out; he'd only arranged things just so; he'd only greased the wheels, just like he always did. He cut in line; he broke the rules; he called in favors. He'd done it on her behalf before, and he was doing it again. But the truth was: having this apartment meant she owed him.

She owed him.

Which is why her hands were trembling. Not because she was angry. Oh, please, if she were angry, this would be so much better. It was because she was surprised. Her emotions caught her off-guard. Her sense that she owed him an explanation was not only because she'd acted badly, not only because he had just done this really sweet and terribly nice thing for her, not only because he'd gotten her a gorgeous chair on credit (despite those photos which no doubt were on the way to his inbox), not only because he'd special ordered that couch, but because-

because he was her friend.

He meant something to her.

He had her.

Kate stepped down the stairs like a man on death row, tried to bolster her spirits with some mental cheerleading, but when she got to the doorway of the kitchen once more, her heart did a little stutter and her mouth went dry.

Castle looked up at her, this time meeting her eyes, and his face wasn't solemn or hurt or expectant; it was just Castle. A little bit of a grin, a little bit of curiosity. And her whole body tensed, her guard went up; Castle was just not something she could handle.

"I'm finished in here. Just up to you to put things where you want them. What next?"

A little bit too eager maybe. But he was always too eager. And her heart was pounding, her palms sweaty, because for some reason, he looked like he could *kiss* her at any moment, and that scared the crap out of her. _Get him away._

"I'll put this stuff up in the cabinets, if you'll find the boxes of stuff that go in my room?" She reached out a hand for the pan still swaddled by a drying cloth in his grip, and he relinquished it.

"Are the boxes marked?"

"Yeah. Says 'my room.'" She gave him a flicker of a smile, telling herself _relax, relax _but he was quick to let go of the pan, quick to head out of the kitchen. She breathed, gripped the pan as if it were a weapon, and watched him leave. "Thanks, Castle."

"Sure." It was said over his shoulder, not even looking back. He was giving her space. She wasn't sure she wanted space.

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to take a survey of the kitchen, the available storage, and the stuff piled up along her countertops and kitchen table. She ignored Castle rummaging around in the living room, ignored the urge to turn on some music and drown him out (because wouldn't playing music indicate some kind of intimacy to him? either because he'd psychoanalyze her mood from it or because the music itself would build a mood. . .), and she ignored the things that she still had left to do.

She'd do this first. Put things where they belonged, find space for every plate and bowl and knife, arrange the perfect layout for the pots and pans, tuck away the pot holders and dish towels and trivets, organize the tupperware. When the kitchen was put to right, then she could start on her bedroom. If she was going to get any sleep at all tonight, she'd need an orderly room, everything in its place.

* * *

><p>Rick found five boxes of stuff, plus two large suitcases. When he had carried everything upstairs, he ducked his head into the kitchen but saw the look on her face and ducked back out again. Not quite there yet.<p>

Inside her bedroom, he found three more suitcases already shoved into the closet. He unzipped one-he couldn't help himself-and discovered piles of shoes. He remembered various pairs over the last couple of years and was amused to discover that all three suitcases held shoes. Interesting. Expensive shoes, some of these. Most of these. They'd have to be, right?, for her to run in heels after a perp.

Rick opened all three of them wide, spread their contents out across the closet floor to look at them more carefully. She had black and brown leather boots, a beautiful knee-high cream colored boot, purple?-purple ankle boots. Three pairs of sneakers, one of which looked like her current running shoes; they were battered and dirty on the bottoms. A cleaner pair with definite wear marks inside were probably the shoes she used for inside exercises-he knew she did a lot of combat sparring and kick-boxing, but there was also a one-time mention of a spin class.

He was beginning to feel a little less manly admiring her shoes, so he went ahead and tried organizing them into the cubby-holes on the left-hand side of the closet. He did it by color and style. Boots first, along the top, because he knew she was that kind of woman (extremely meticulous and she wouldn't want the boots bent to fit into the cubbies), and then he started in with the various dress shoes by color. Black first, then browns, purples, blues, greens, ranging through the color wheel until he finished with white. Only two pairs of white shoes. A lot of red ones that Rick was quite certain he'd never before seen. No orange. Interesting. After that, Rick came to the sandals and felt that maybe he'd done this the wrong way. Maybe the black sandals should've gone in with all the various kinds of closed-toed, black shoes?

Well, no. He dismissed that with a shake of his head. She wasn't allowed to wear sandals to the precinct, so therefore, these shoes were in a separate category. _Very good, Rick. Smart thinking. _He smiled to himself and then suddenly felt a shiver across his forearms; the hairs standing on end as if she had suddenly come into the room.

This was a very bad idea. Her shoes? What was he thinking? This was creepier than staring at her all day. Arranging her shoes? Holy mother-he was a first class idiot!

Castle pulled everything back out again and piled them at the bottom of the closet. He left all her shoes in their pairs, not too messy, of course; if he just dumped them there, Beckett would be pissed, but he made it clear that he'd just taken them straight out. Then Rick nestled the suitcases, one inside the other, and put them at the back of the closet. She still had a great deal of storage space.

He got out of there fast. No more shoes. Not her clothes either, which meant that the other two suitcases were off-limits. Rick opened the first box, using his keys to break the tape, pushing back the flaps. Lots of bottles: lotions, shampoos, perfumes, sunblock, hydrogen peroxide. Then under the counter kinds of stuff: band-aids, toilet bowl cleaner, make-up, soap refills.

Okay. This was okay. He could do this. Rick took the box into the bathroom and opened the storage closet, the cabinets, pulled back the shower curtain. She'd already dumped her shower caddy in the bathtub, so he hung it over the showerhead and fixed it so that it wouldn't slip off. He had started pulling out bottles, looking for the stuff that might go in the shower caddy, when the smell assaulted him.

Cherries.

Oh. . .Rick Castle was in trouble.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath of it, and buried his head in his hands.

Cherries.


	13. Chapter 13

Kate Beckett found him sitting on her bed, his hands between his knees, looking like he'd done something really wrong.

"Castle."

His head jerked around at the sound of her voice; the terror on his face would've been funny if it hadn't been for all their history. Judging by his face, this could be very bad.

"Castle."

"Yeah. I'm here."

"I can see that. What are you doing?" She moved a little further into the room.

"Uh, trying not to get into trouble." He leaned forward on his knees and gestured to the bathroom. "I had to kinda leave it-"

"What are you talking about?" Expecting the worst-lotion busted all over the floor, broken perfume bottles-she stepped gingerly into the bathroom. But it looked clean, organized even. He'd hung up the shower caddy; opened all the drawers and the storage closet. He'd found the towels and put them away on the shelves; he'd opened a couple of boxes and not gotten to them, but that was all right. She hadn't expected him to start unpacking for her. "It looks fine, Castle."

He nodded absently.

"Castle?"

"No, yeah. I just-it seemed too much."

She turned from the bright light of the bathroom to look at Castle's face, still in the late afternoon's shadows. She still owed him an explanation. It looked like her issues, her closed-off-ness, had finally overwhelmed his natural optimism. She needed to grow a pair and just confess.

"I'm sorry," she said, and sank down on the bed beside him. No sheets on yet, not even the bedspread. Both those things were in garbage bags in the closet.

"You're sorry?" he said, twisting his head to look at her. He seemed both shattered and confused.

It wasn't pretty. She absolutely didn't like seeing him this way; as if he had no idea what to do next. "For in there. For-for acting like a bitch."

He jerked upright and shook his head. "No, no. I shouldn't have pushed. And we've already gotten this out of the way, haven't we? I mean. . ."

Kate crossed her legs on the bed and nodded. "We have. I thought we had anyway. But you look, you look upset."

His face paled. "You can tell?" He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "Of course you can tell. It's nothing, Kate."

_Kate?_

She'd done some damage to him, then. More damage than he wanted to admit to. She hadn't meant-she hadn't thought. . .

"It's something," she said seriously, wondering if she should put a hand on his arm.

"Now who's pushing?" But he gave her a watery look to show he didn't meant it. "Seriously, nothing. I just. . ." Castle sighed and then gave her a bright, false smile. "Let's finish in here so we can get to your books. Right? That's my favorite."

He was trying to change the subject, very *not* subtle, but she wondered if she should let it go. This whole thing didn't feel right, but he had that look on his face that meant he was serious; he was so rarely serious. "Sure. Let's finish."

He sighed when she got up and went straight for the bathroom. "I'll just-I'll start-Is there anything I can do out here?"

Kate turned, concerned. "Well, sure. Um. . .oh. Can you make the bed? Stuff's in the black garbage bags in the closet."

His face creased, something like pain flickering over his features, but before she had a chance to investigate it further, he was moving for her closet. Kate chewed on her lip, but stepped into her bathroom, grabbing the open box on the countertop. She wasn't sure what was Castle's deal, and in her experience, it was best to just let it lie.

* * *

><p>Rick took another deep breath when he opened the garbage bags in her closet. He shouldn't have done that either. Her scent was all over the bedding, <em>cherries<em>, but something more intimate, more personal, sleep-sweat and warm dreams. He got to it, hoping that doing a job would keep his mind off it. Leaning down, Rick pulled out her bedspread, a thick quilt in a riot of blues and purples. As he pulled it out, he realized it was a peacock design, with gold thread for the eye and silver along the border. Below that were navy blue sheets in a high thread count and Egyptian cotton.

Navy sheets. He wouldn't have guessed it. It was a little masculine.

And it wasn't keeping his mind off things either.

Castle gathered everything up and deposited it on the floor of her bedroom, checking out the bed. Full. Was there a bedskirt? Rick turned back to the garbage bags in the closet and rifled through them again. A brown bedskirt was folded small in the bottom.

All right, so he had all the pieces. Castle hefted the mattress up and leaned it against the wall so he could spread the bedskirt on top of the box springs. The bedskirt in place, he wrestled the mattress back into place, glancing over his shoulder to check on Kate, like he couldn't help but want to get another glimpse of her. Through the doorway, he could see her arranging things on a storage shelf under the sink, that one strand of hair falling into her face again and again as she leaned over.

Rick sighed and opened up the fitted sheet. Within moments, the fitted sheet was in place and he was snapping open the top sheet, studiously avoiding the view into the bathroom.

And that's when it hit him, overwhelmingly. _Cherries_. It wafted through the air, wrapping him in its rich embrace. All over the sheets, all over the bed, all over Kate, Kate in the bed-

He groaned, rubbed at his face again to rub out the images, but the scent was now all over his hands, and he was scrubbing it into his pores.

"Castle?"

His head jerked up; he felt a tendril of panic. "I'm fine. I'm good. Just-just putting on the top sheet. Almost done."

Beckett was already coming out of the bathroom, a bottle of shampoo in one hand, curiosity on her face. "You okay? I heard you groan."

"Yeah, yeah, all good."

"Want help?" She leaned to the side and dropped the shampoo on top of the dresser. She came towards him like a panther, stalking him, eyes intent, and he just knew, *knew*, that she knew exactly what was going on.

"Uh, sure."

His eye twitched, but she took half of the sheet from his nerveless fingers and pulled it wide, backing slowly to the other side of the bed, still watching him.

Rick cleared his throat and followed her lead, tucking the sheet in at the foot, with military-style, crisp corners. They pulled on the bedspread together, tugging it up, piling on the pillows Kate unearthed from another box. When he looked up at her over the bed, it hit him.

Cherries. Kate. The bed between them. The last of the late evening sunlight highlighting the soft wave of her hair. His chest ached. He wanted her so badly. His hands wanted to capture her, tug her down beside him, pull her close to him-

Oh, no.

_No, no, no, no._

He took a stuttering breath and backed up, avoiding her eyes.

"Castle?"

He couldn't help it; his eyes were drawn to hers, needed hers, and he looked at her, trying his hardest to school his features, hide the burn that thrummed through him.

Her eyes were dark, either from afternoon shadows or some emotion he couldn't name, and she was fiddling with the edge of a pillow, the bed still between them. He fisted his hands and pushed them into his pockets.

"I shouldn't have walked out just because you asked questions. It's not a big secret. It's not-it's not a problem, really."

Rick took a shallow breath, but the scent of cherries was still floating around the room. He wasn't sure he could do this conversation right now. "Really, I understand-"

"No. I haven't given you the chance to understand. And that's not right." Kate crossed her arms over her chest and half-turned to the windows above the bed. "You were right. I do it because I'm trying to prove to myself that I don't need it. I'll drink half. I'll take a sip. I'll have a glass of wine here at home but only for a special occasion. My father used alcohol to help forget. I use it to help me remember."

Rick sat down heavily on the bed, watching her profile in the last of the light. She was beautiful. He'd always known she was hot, sexy, gorgeous-all those things of course. But standing there against the light, the weight of her father's sobriety, the weight of her mother's murder, the weight of it all layering her shoulders, her arms, putting that furrow in her brow, causing her teeth to chew her lip-

She was beautiful. "Extraordinary."

Kate jerked, as if touched by a live wire, and blinked rapidly when she finally turned to face him. No tears, but they'd been close. "What does that mean?"

He took in a deep breath to explain and caught a lungful of cherries again, musk and cherries, musk and Kate. He crawled over the bed; it wasn't graceful, but he needed to be beside her. He had to be in the same soft pool of light as she was. He had to be able to touch her elbow, sense the heat of her body.

"Everything I learn about you, Kate. Just layers and layers."

She ducked her head, chewing on her lip, and brushed at her cheeks with a shaky hand. "I don't want to be extraordinary. I just want. . ." She sighed again.

"I know," Rick said softly. He couldn't help catching her shaky hand with his own, pressing his thumb into the center of her palm where the tear was still wet against her skin.

She looked up at him with those dark-rimmed eyes, her lips red from being irritated, the shadows along her cheekbones, but her fingers curled around his thumb.

He wanted to protect her. He wanted to hold her against himself and never let go.


	14. Chapter 14

Castle's face was too serious. And he was too close. And he was leaning in.

No. No, no, no.

He was *not* going to kiss her.

Kate hadn't even decided how she felt about it yet; he couldn't possibly be about to kiss her. She hadn't thought it through. She hadn't researched the possible scenarios. She hadn't even reconciled herself to being kissed-

Castle was leaning in closer; his body was closer. He put up a hand to cradle the back of her head and she stiffened, put her hands against his chest to push back-

"Come here," he murmured. "Just, come here."

His cheek brushed hers; he pulled her tightly against him-

And suddenly she was being crushed by Castle. Hugged. A hug.

A tight hug. But a hug nonetheless. A hug in which he'd pressed a hand to the small of her back so that her hips were flush against his, her head was being held to his shoulder, and he was breathing hard, like he couldn't catch his breath. Like the air was too thick.

Okay, so this was a little more than a hug. "Castle?"

"Mm-hmm. . ."

She waited a beat, kinda liking the warmth of his chest, the feel of his soft tshirt under her cheek. "What is this about, Castle?"

"I just need to hug you. Do you mind? Because sometimes people just need to hug."

She chuckled, infinitely relieved, and pressed her smile into his shoulder. She let her grin grow and turned her head to curl up against his chest, moving her arms to hook around his waist, realizing too late that it pressed her even closer to him. But it was nice. And he seemed to need some kind of contact after whatever it was that had happened to make him so dejected-whether it was her rude treatment of him earlier or something else, she didn't know. This seemed to be doing him some good. In fact, he seemed to be. . .smelling her hair?

He squeezed her a little tighter, then loosened his grip, still not letting go, but not quite as desperate seeming to her anymore. She sighed against him. She owed him an explanation. "My dad-"

"You don't have to tell me," he said softly.

"I want to." He deserved to know, and talking like this with him, without having to look in his eyes or see his pity was so much easier. "My dad was drunk from the time I changed my major to criminology until the day I graduated from the police academy."

"What made him stop?"

"I arrested him for public intoxication."

He huffed a laugh into her hair, finally letting go of the back of her head to smooth down her collar, his fingers brushing her neck. "That seems mean."

She frowned. "He deserved it. He spent the night in the tank with the other drunks."

"That's got to be sobering." His fingers massaged the back of her neck; his other hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

"It wasn't." Kate rubbed her forehead against Castle's shoulder, sighing again. "When I got him out, he was ticked. He called me out; said I was being ungrateful. That this wasn't what my mom wanted for me-" She was mortified by the hitch in her voice.

His arms circled tighter, one hand sliding under her button-down shirt that hung off her shoulders, the other hooked around her neck, his fingers sliding under the strap of her tank top to cup her shoulder, pulling her closer. She might've been wrong, but Kate thought she felt his lips against her hair, his nose buried into the soft place beside her ear.

"Anyway. I left him on the sidewalk, walked away. I got a call two hours later from a bartender friend. I went over and waited till they kicked him out; I arrested him the moment he hit the street."

"That same day?"

"Second day on the force. So far my arrest record was two-both times my own father."

"And then?" His hand was warm; she liked the callouses on the tips of his fingers, like he'd spent too long typing.

"When he came out after that, he asked me for help."

Castle breathed softly against her hair; she could feel it along her scalp. "The life you saved."

"Yes."

"How long was he in recovery?"

"A year." She chewed on her bottom lip and let her lashes brush his shirt. "It was hard for him. I used-I used the last of mom's money to pay for it. The last of my inheritance from her estate."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." She liked the feel of Castle's oblique muscles, his traps as they tapered into his spine; she liked the power of them under her thumbs. "That apartment was the last of Mom's assets. It was just a rent-control agreement. Just a lease. Not even something she owned, but it was the last I had of hers."

"This apartment is yours, Kate. Free and clear. You're paying for it. Your name is on the lease. I've got nothing to do with it. You owe me nothing, Kate."

She closed her eyes. "That's not true. I do owe you, Castle. I owe you a lot."

"I don't *want* you to owe me." There was something unspoken to the rest of that sentence, something about what maybe he *did* want, but wasn't saying.

Would she have to say it herself? "What *do* you want?"

He took a stuttering breath and released her, his hands disappearing from her back. "Don't ask me that."

Kate took a hesitant step back, dropping her arms to her sides, shrugging her shoulders to put her button down shirt back into place. She felt confusion and vulnerability pushing up behind her eyes. "Castle?"

"You don't really want to know that, Kate. You don't want those answers. So let it just be this."

He turned his back on her to straighten pillows on her bed that had already been straightened. Kate stood in the twilight coming through the window, stunned.

* * *

><p>Castle's hands were shaking; his fingertips still held the warmth and softness of her skin. He'd wanted to kiss her, but he knew that wouldn't fly, so instead he had pulled her into a hug, hoping it would last him for awhile. Hugged her and smelled her hair, the scent of her skin. It had to be both a lotion-cherry blossom or something-and also a hair product. It enveloped her.<p>

He wanted all kinds of things she wasn't ready for.

"Castle?"

He fluffed the last pillow, taking a deep breath, and turned back to face her with a smile on his face. "What's next, Detective Beckett? Should we tackle your closet? The books now maybe?"

"Oh no you don't, Castle. You don't start calling me Detective like you think that will put me off. What's going on here?"

This was worse than he expected. She wasn't going to let this go. He didn't know why, but he knew that meant he had to distract quickly.

"So your dad had a year of rehab, and then what?"

"He was in and out in a year. It took three months at the end. Seven years sober now. Almost eight." She was circling him, studying him as if trying to figure him out, half her mind on her words.

And she would figure him out. She was a smart woman. "What did you do while he was in rehab? A year of being a beat cop?"

"Yeah, of course. I had training. My training officer-you met him-" He watched her flounder for a moment, his chest aching for it, and then she had recovered. "I had Royce; he was a father figure to me. You know this. I had time to heal. I had things I wanted to do. I took the detective's test as soon as I could."

"And made it."

She nodded, but her face was conflicted. "I made it."

She didn't sound assured. "You did it," he insisted.

"It might've been my mother's name that greased the wheels, though." She said it softly, her face tilted towards the window again. "It might've been because of her murder that the higher-ups wanted to keep me close, under their thumb-"

"You can't think about it like that."

"I'm trying not to." She nodded, looked like she had gathered herself back together again. Which wasn't good for him, because now her attention was back to him. "I don't usually. I'm good at my job now. But the second I got detective, I was on my mom's case. Which meant that while I obsessed over that one, I don't think I was that good of a detective to the cases I got. But they kept me. Montgomery taught me the ropes; there were others."

"For three years."

Kate shot a swift look over at him, then narrowed her eyes, stepping closer than he'd like her to be right now. "You know this already, Castle. I told you this."

He nodded, not trusting his voice any longer, now that she was within touching distance. His hands itched. His chest ached.

"What's up with you? Why this-why now?" She cast suspicious eyes around her room, then stalked to the closet, throwing it open. "You unpacked my shoes."

"Yeah," he croaked, and tried not to look guilty.

"You half-unpacked my bathroom. And then you stopped." She whirled back around and headed straight for the bathroom just like she was walking a crime scene.

His heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

She stood in the bathroom, her body sharply angled against the light spilling around her, hands on her hips. She tossed a look in his direction, an assessing look, and then narrowed her eyes and went back to her study of the bathroom. His face must've confirmed something for her, because she checked the shower caddy, checked the bathroom cleaning supplies he'd stored in the linen closet, checked the box of lotions and perfumes and shampoos that had been his undoing.

When she leaned in close to look inside the box, he actually saw her nostrils flare, her head jerk.

"Seriously?" Rick pressed his hands into his eye sockets, growling.

"Cherries? You smelled my-my lotion, my conditioner-and it was the smell of cherries that made you look so devastated?" She sounded incredulous. She sounded like he was the craziest person alive.

And he was. He knew it. It was crazy.

"How in the world did you figure that out so fast?" he whined, throwing his hands up in surrender.

She stalked closer to him, hands still on her hips, a thoroughly intimidating look on her face. "Cherries? You looked like someone had beat you, Castle. You looked like you were going to cry."

"I wasn't going to cry. It wouldn't be manly." He raised his chin, trying to avoid her gaze, acting indignant.

Then her eyes narrowed again. "You were smelling my hair, weren't you? Just a second ago?" She took a step closer, jaw tensed.

He gulped. "Yes."

She growled back at him. "Man up, Castle. You want something, you ask for it." And then she stepped right between his legs and brought both hands to his cheeks and raised herself on tiptoe-

and stopped, a glittering look in her eyes. "Are *you* ready for this, Castle?"


	15. Chapter 15

Absolutely beautiful.

He didn't hesitate.

Richard Castle claimed her mouth before she could even finish her irritated, impassioned, not a little bit careless ultimatum. He took her in close, pressed her against the line of his body, stealing breath, words, wonder.

Kate surged up, closer, holding on to him by his ears as if he might at any moment break away. He felt the whole curve of her undulating to meet him, hot and rich and not at all still, ever moving, questing, seeking answers he didn't have the words to question. She was shock and awe, hit and miss, overwhelming and ethereal all in the same instant, so that he felt he had to constantly keep hold of her to keep her, press every part of her to him to make sure she was really there.

He wasn't going to let go for anything.

And then he did, because he had to breathe, he had to speak, he had things to say: "Anything at all, Kate. Anything you'll give me-"

Her eyes flashed dark, like antimatter igniting, and her mouth, the lines smudged by his mouth, dropped open to ruin it with imprecations or confessions he wouldn't, couldn't hear.

"Everything," he insisted heatedly, amending his words with more words. The words were never right, never accurate enough. Wasn't that why he wrote and wrote and wrote for all these years? What were 28 best sellers when they never got it right?

She was a snake in his grip, sinuous muscle and writhing power, working now as if to get away from him even as she ignited.

"Everything, everything," he repeated and struck again, towering over her, bruising her with his mouth, as if he needed to punish her for making him say it, when clearly, words were never going to win her over.

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett sucked in a breath the moment he let her, then dived back into it with him. She didn't need the words, only this, the feel of his warm palm at her neck, a brand, and his mouth breathing in time with hers. She felt underwater, moving slowly and gracelessly, her movements blocked or countered by his, neither of them fitting right or close or matched, but blending, give and take.<p>

Insistent. Total. All or nothing with him.

Kate rejected his answer of 'anything' and went for 'everything' instead. She eased up only long enough to caress both of the soft tips of his ears with her fingers, trail her hands down his cheeks, the sides of his neck, to his broad shoulders, and finally to wrap around his biceps.

"That's better," she finally answered, and nudged his mouth aside so she could get at the line of his jaw.

Like a rooting puppy, he went back blindly for her lips, nibbling, drawing them in, but she broke free to make her mark against the underside of his jaw where stubble had just begun. She scraped her teeth over it, then his earlobe, and his body shuddered, his hands stilled, his mouth paused so he could pant against the top of her head.

Before she realized the mood had shifted, Castle was pressing her into himself, enveloping her in a way she both thrilled to and hated, as if he could protect her, keep her, and his hands were gentle and shaky against her back, soothing.

She lowered herself down, feet flat, sliding against his front as she went and making him shudder again, in waves, his hands fisting in her shirt for a moment. She liked Castle uncontrolled, surprised to discover that what normally passed for uncontrollable was, in fact, nowhere close to this. This was the Castle she'd wanted, all this time. The interesting Castle.

He breathed in deeply again, palmed her cheek so that he could press her head against his chest, but she didn't want that, she didn't want to be cradled like she was ten years old; she wanted back the man without thought or reason, wordless.

She pushed back, hands at his biceps, and made him look at her.

Her chest squeezed, because he looked so afraid, so desperately afraid of her, afraid of what she might say. And she wasn't stupid enough or messed up enough to think, even for a second, that he didn't want this, that he regretted it. No, she knew he was afraid of her because he wanted it so much and she might not.

"I'm not sure about everything Castle."

And his fists, still in her shirt, jerked involuntarily, pressing her hips against his to thwart her, but she hurried on, hoping that something of what she wanted was in her face for him to see because words wouldn't do it justice.

"But what I've got," Kate paused, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to that spot where his collarbone hollowed out and his skin was so soft. "You can have."

* * *

><p>The End.<p>

To all those who reviewed, whether it was once or every chapter, thank you so much for your encouragement and enthusiasm. Somehow a small little story about Kate Beckett moving into her new place turned into an epic about Richard Castle's crusade to win her heart. Thank you for being along for the ride, and for letting me know how fine the scenery was.

This story is complete.

"The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of laughter."

-Ecc 7:4


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